LIBRARY 

University  of  California^ 
IRVINE 


LADY  LUCK 


LADY  LUCK 


BY 

HUGH  WILEY 


AUTHOR  OF 

THE  WILD  CAT,  ETC. 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAPj 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 


Mode  in  the  United  States  of  America 


f    NX 


1.3 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  Iwc. 

Published,  November,  1921 

Second  Printing,  November,  1921 
Third  Printing,  November,  1322 


TO 
MY  FATHER 


"  When  you  's  travellin'  heavy  on  de  misery  road 
An'  yo'  back  is  breakin'  wid  de  misery  load, 
Jes'  rigger  dat  yo'  trouble  's  boun'  to  end, 
Cause  Lady  Luck  is  waitin'  fo'  you,  'roun  de  bend." 

THE  WILDCAT 


LADY   LUCK 


CHAPTER   I 


Ah  wuz  a  fiel'  ban'  fo'  Ah  sailed  de  sea, 

Wisht  Ah  wuz  a  fiel'  han'  now. 

Dis  konk'rin'  hero  business  don'  make  no  hit  wid  me- 

Wisht  Ah  wuz  a  fiel'  ban'  now. 


G 


**  S~~*\  IMME  back  a  nickel !  How  come  coffee 
ten  cents'?  Gimme  back  'at  nickel  befo' 
bofe  ob  us  is  on  de  same  side  ob  de  lunch 
counter." 

"You  an'  a  policeman,  you  means.  Ca'm  yo'se'f. 
If  dis  wah  keeps  up,  coffee  g'wine  cost  fifteen  cents 
nex'  week." 

"How  come  wan*?  Wah  finished  a  yeah  back. 
Me  an'  Cap'n  Jack  wuz  de  fust  men  in  de  wah. 
Wah's  done.  Ah  knows.  Gimme  back  'at  nickel." 

"Mebbe  de  wah  is  done,  but  de  Democrats  ain't. 
Git  out  ob  heah  wid  dat  goat,  fo'  you  ruins  mah 
trade." 

The  Wildcat  picked  up  Captain  Jack's  bed-roll 
from  the  floor  beside  the  lunch  counter  in  the 
Memphis  station.  He  accumulated  Lily  from 

where  the  travelworn  mascot  goat  was  tethered  to 

ii 


12  LADY   LUCK 

an  adjoining  stool.  Together  they  walked  from  the 
lunch  room  in  which  he  had  sought  refreshment 
after  an  arduous  ride  from  San  Francisco  to 
Memphis. 

"Come  on  heah,  Lily.  Ol'  Cap'n  Jack  an'  de 
lady  done  went  home  in  a  takes-a-grab.  Boy 
takes  a  grab  at  yo'  money,  an'  if  deys  any  lef,  you 
gives  it  to  a  policeman  fo'  arrestin'  him.  Us 
rides  a  'spress  wagon." 

On  the  street  fronting  the  station  the  Wildcat 
chartered  a  rickety  express  wagon  hauled  by  a 
languid  black  mule.  "Whuf !"  the  driver  grunted. 
'"Sho'  is  de  ponderestest  bed-roll  Ah  eveh  lifted." 

"  'At  bed-roll's  full  of  iron  helmets  f 'm  dead 
Germans,  fo'  Cap'n  Jack  to  'membeh  de  wah  by. 
De  officehs  craves  to  'membeh  de  wah.  Us  'listed 
boys  craves  to  fo'git  it." 

The  driver  of  the  express  wagon  looked  sideways 
at  the  Wildcat.  "When  did  de  goat  die?" 

"How  come?" 

"Sit  him  on  de  side  ob  me  whah  de  win'  ain't 
blowin'.  Wuz  he  de  Dove  ob  Peace  de  wah'd  go 
on  fo'eveh.  Whut's  dem  culled  ribbons  doin'  on 
dat  goat?" 

"De  blue  ribbon  is  mah  mascot's  quality.  De  red 
an'  white  ones  is  patriotism." 

"Thought  mebbe  dey  wuz  fus'  an'  secon'  prizes 
fo>  smellin'." 


LADY   LUCK  13 

The  Wildcat  handed  the  driver  of  the  express 
wagon  a  cigar. 

"Smoke  dis  offsetteh,"  he  said.  Drifting  along  on 
a  haze  of  conflicting  aromas,  the  outfit  arrived 
finally  at  the  residence  of  Captain  Jack.  "Heah's  de 
fifty  cents,"  the  Wildcat  said  to  the  express  driver. 

"Cost  me  dat  to  git  de  goat  smell  renovated  off 
me.  Wuth  six  bits." 

"On  yo'  way.  I'll  six  bits  you!  Quit  whiffin' 
wid  dat  nose,  befo'  I  busts  yo'  loose  f'm  it.  On  yo' 
way !  C'm  on,  Lily." 

The  Wildcat  spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon 
shuffling  furniture  around  inside  of  Captain  Jack's 
house.  At  four  o'clock  Captain  Jack's  wife  arrived, 
convoying  a  perspiring  three-hundred-pound  trophy 
which  she  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  capture. 

"Yo'  is  de  cook,  is  yo"?"  the  Wildcat  said  to 
the  newly  enthroned  ruler  of  the  kitchen. 

The  ebony  Amazon  looked  at  him.  "Who  is 
you?" 

"I's  champion  ration  battler  ob  de  world.  Wait 
till  I  gits  back."  The  Wildcat  returned  presently 
with  an  armful  of  wood.  "You  claims  you's  a 
cook — well,  woman,  I  lights  de  fiah.  Den  you  sees 
kin  yo'." 

"Kin  I  what?"* 

"Fust  yo'  barbecues  'at  ham  hangin'  then.  When 
Ah  gits  th'oo,  half  of  it  will  be  lef.  Whilst  de 


14  LADY   LUCK 

ham's  sizzlin'  you  th'ows  enough  cawn  bread  to- 
getheh  to  fill  de  big  pan.  When  Ah  gits  th'oo 
dey'll  be  half  of  it  lef.  When  de  ham  juice  begins 
to  git  sunburned  you  makes  some  ham  gravy.  Ah 
spec'  ham  gravy's  de  fondest  thing  Ah  is  of.  I  says 
'Howdy,  ham  gravy !'  an'  af teh  me  an'  de  vittles  gits 
acquainted,  mah  appetite  won't  need  grub  no  mo'n  a 
fish  needs  shoes." 

"Cut  de  ham."  The  Wildcat  carved  off  five  or 
six  thick  slices. 

The  cook  looked  at  him.     "Is  you  fo'gittin'  me4?" 

"You  hungry?  De  way  you  looks,  yo's  et  all  de 
grub  whut  is." 

"Nach'ral  to  be  fat.  Look  at  de  elephant.  How 
come  you  so  skinny?" 

"Wah  mis'ry.  All  I  et  fo'  two  yeahs  in  France 
wuz  Guv'ment  rashuns.  Dey  wuzn't  fillin'.  I  et 
myse'f  down  to  boy-size  pants  de  fust  yeah.  Secon' 
yeah  dey  lets  me  run  wild  'cause  dey  couldn't  find 
no  unifawm  small  enough." 

"Wuz  yo'  in  de  big  drive?" 

"I'll  say  I  wuz.  Us  boys  drove  more  railroad 
spikes  at  St.  Sulpice  dan  a  colonel  has  cooties. 
Woman,  how  come  you  knows  all  about  de  -names 
ob  de  wah?" 

"I  had  a  husban'  uplifteh  in  de  wah  whut  wrote 
me  letters.  Mebbe  yo'  met  up  wid  him,  name  bein' 
Huntington  Boone." 


LADY   LUCK  15 

The  Wildcat's  jaw  sagged  open  as  far  as  the  roots 
of  his  lolling  tongue.  "Honey  Tone!  De  up- 
lifteh?  He's  yo' man?' 

"You  knows  him*?" 

"Ah  knows  him  some — goin'  on  a  thousan'  francs 
he  lifted  off  me  wid  de  gallopin'  ivory." 

"Ain't  de  same  one.  Huntington  saw  de  light 
an'  swerve  f'm  de  sin  road  to  de  straight  an'  narrow 
in  de  Fall  Revival  five  yeahs  back — de  time  Sis 
Ellers  got  drowned  at  de  baptisin'  an'  stayed  undeh 
till  she  blowed  up  at  Vicksbu'g.  Mah  man  went 
oveh  as  a  uplifteh." 

"  'At's  de  boy.  He  swerved  back  at  de  sinful 
life.  De  on'y  upliftin'  he  done  wuz  wid  us  boys' 
money  an'  coonyak." 

The  Wildcat  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment. 

"Whah  at  is  he  now4?"  he  suddenly  asked. 

"I  ain't  seed  him  since  he  went  away.  Wore 
out  mah  black  alpaca  mournin'  dress  an'  spilt  ice 
cream  all  oveh  de  otheh  at  a  social.  'At's  how  come 
Ah's  in  calico." 

"I  ain't  seed  him  neveh  since — " 

"Since  when?' 

"Since  he  sailed  fo'  N'  O'leans  on  de  iron  boat." 

"He  done  come  back!     Praise  de  Lawd!" 

"Call  de  police,  you  means.  Did  he  git  back  he's 
in  de  jail  whah  at  he  belongs — all  I  seed  wuz  him 
leavin'." 


16  LADY,   LUCK 

In  the  face  of  the  Wildcat's  argument  the  Ama 
zon's  mood  changed.  "When  I  gets  th'oo  wid'  dat 
man  de  jail  folks  sho'  have  to  pen  him  up  in  a  barrel 
to  hoi'  de  leavin's.  He's  'bout  as  pop'lar  wid  me  as 
smallpox.  All  he  eveh  done  wuz  bear  down  hahd  on 
de  money  when  I  come  home  wid  mah  wages." 

At  the  moment  the  Wildcat  did  not  feel  con 
strained  to  explain  that  Honey  Tone's  departure 
from  Bordeaux  had  been  one  of  the  Wildcat's  con- 
trivings — one  in  which  Honey  Tone  had  been  bat 
tened  down  hi  the  hold  of  the  cargo  ship,  together 
with  a  hundred  French  Colonial  negro  troops.  "I 
rec'lects  he  lef  Bo'deaux  on  a  boat  dey  calls  de 
Princess  Clam,  headed  fo'  N'  O' leans.  Chances  is 
he's  in  de  N'  O'leans  jail  right  now." 

The  Wildcat  decided  that  it  might  be  well  to 
encourage  Honey  Tone's  mate  to  souse  the  black 
mood  of  her  mourning  in  the  whitewash  of  jealousy, 
"'Spect  he  might  be  married  up  again — mebbe.. 
'At  boy  gits  'gaged  wheheveh  'at  he  goes." 

"Is  he  rampagin'  roun'  I  makes  two  widows  stid  of 
one  does  I  ketch  him.  Cleah  outen  heah !" 

Honey  Tone's  vindictive  mate  craved  solitude 
in  which  to  enjoy  the  misery  of  her  ambition  for 
revenge. 

The  Wildcat  cleared  out,  taking  with  him  a 
substantial  segment  of  corn  bread  and  two  hot  slices 
of  ham,  "Does  Honey  Tone  live  th'oo  whut  de 


LADY   LUC.K  17 

female  'ception  committee  g'wine  to  git  ready  fo' 
him  I  gives  him  mah  Craw  de  Gare  an'  all  de  woun; 
stripes  whut  is." 

In  the  woodshed  back  of  Captain  Jack's  house  the 
mascot  Lily  patiently  awaited  her  proprietor. 

"Blaa !"  she  said  in  greeting  when  the  Wildcat 
appeared. 

"Whut  yo'  mean*?  How  come  you  always  craves 
nutriment?"  the  Wildcat  demanded.  "Heah." 
He  gave  the  goat  a  fragment  of  corn  bread. 
"Whuf !  de  oP  cawn  pone  sho'  is  fillin'.  I  sleeps 
me  now  fo'  a  little  while.  Den  I  goes  downtown 
an'  says  Howdy  to  de  boys.  Lily,  lay  off  dat  hat! 
Eat  de  ham  grease  offen  it  does  yo'  crave  to,  but 
ca'm  yo'  se'f  when  yo'  gits  to  de  hat  part." 

The  Wildcat  reclined  on  a  pile  of  hickory  stove- 
wood  and  went  to  sleep.  Sleeping  was  his  long 
suit.  At  ten  o'clock  that  night  he  woke  up. 

"Sho'  is  late.  Front  do'  de  barber  shop  be 
locked,  but  de  back  do'  ain't."  The  Wildcat 
threaded  the  dark  streets  which  led  to  Willie  Web 
ster's  barber  shop.  The  shave-and-haircut  part  of 
the  Webster  establishment  served  but  to  camouflage 
the  darker  industries  which  had  their  being  in  a 
room  contiguous  to  the  one  where  shaves  were  a 
nickel  and  haircuts  fifteen  cents,  including  musk. 

At  the  back  door  of  the  barber  shop  the  Wildcat 
hesitated  for  a  moment  in  an  effort  to  recall  the 


i8  LADY   LUCK 

secret  knock  which  gained  admittance  in  the  days 
before  the  war.  This  element  of  the  ritual  finally 
came  to  him,  and  on  the  rough  panels  of  the  door 
sounded  three  quick  raps  followed  by  two  at  more 
deliberate  intervals. 

"I  gits  it  'fused  up  wid  de  time  I  wuz  outeh 
guard  to  de  Lodge  ob  Colored  Damons.  'At  knock 
wuz  fo'  an'  th'ee.  Fish  club  knock  wuz  two  an'  two. 
'Membehs  dat.  Dat's  how  de  animals  come  off  de 
Ark,  time  ob  de  flood." 

The  door  opened  an  inch,  and  the  slot  of  light 
from  within  was  interrupted  by  a  rolling  eyeball 
which  surmounted  a  pair  of  questioning  liver-col 
oured  lips.  "Who  dat?" 

"Wildcat — Vitus  Marsden."  The  door  opened 
quickly,  and  the  Wildcat  edged  into  the  company 
of  his  former  associates. 

"Men,  howdy!" 

"Dogged  if  it  ain't  oP  Marsden!  Boy,  how  is 
yo'  ?  Is  yo'  back  f'm  de  wan?" 

"Heah  us  is,  ain't  I?" 

Willie  Webster,  the  proprietor  of  the  establish 
ment,  came  forward.  "Don'  see  no  arms  an'  no 
laigs  missin'.  Yo'  neveh  used  yo'  haid  nohow, 
'ceptin'  to  eat  wid.  Boy,  how  is  yo'?  Hail  de 
Konk'rin'  Hero!" 

"Tol'able,  Willie."  The  Konk'rin'  Hero  looked 
about  him.  At  a  table  against  the  wall,  under  the 


LADY   LUCK  19 

rays  of  a  smoking  coal  oil  lamp,  a  crap  game  was  in 
progress. 

The  Wildcat's  fingers  began  to  itch.  He  walked 
over  toward  the  table.  In  the  outline  of  one  of  the 
figures  standing  beside  the  table  the  Wildcat  identi 
fied  an  acquaintance  of  his  former  days.  "Seems 
like  I  knows  de  shape  'at  boy's  got."  The  Wild 
cat  edged  up  to  the  table. 

The  owner  of  the  familiar  silhouette  faced  the 
Wildcat.  "Wilecat,  how  is  you?  Hot  dam,  boy 
— is  you  back*?" 

Honey  Tone  Boone,  the  exile  uplifter,  was  quick 
to  conceal  the  inconvenient  recognition  in  the  ex 
tended  palm  of  cordial  insincerity. 

The  Wildcat's  mouth  opened  and  closed  in  ca 
dence  with  the  wild  leaping  of  his  Adam's  apple. 
With  difficulty  he  pacified  his  organs  of  speech,  and 
presently  the  honey  of  hypocrisy  filtered  from  the 
tip  of  his  tongue.  "Honey  Tone!  Honey  Tone 
de  uplifteh!  Las'  time  I  seed  yo',  yo'  wuz  in  Bo'- 
deaux." 

"Las'  time  you  seed  me  I  wuz  in  trouble." 

"How  come?"  A  mask  of  surprise  covered  the 
Wildcat's  face. 

Honey  Tone  explained  the  method  of  his  depar 
ture  from  Bordeaux. 

"You  kidnapped  in  de  gizzard  ob  de  ol'  iron 
boat !  Ain't  it  s'prisin' !  Us  boys  sho'  missed  you." 


20  LADY   LUCK 

Honey  Tone  relapsed  into  the  vernacular.  "I'll 
say  'at's  all  you  missed.  After  you  made  de  las' 
pass  wid  de  gallopin'  ivory  you  sho'  lef  me  clean. 
All  I  had  on  me  wuz  cooties.  How  come  you  heah, 
Wilecat?" 

"Cap'-n  Jack  brung  me.  I's  still  workin'  fo' 
Cap'n  Jack.  Afteh  us  landed  offen  de  boat  f'm 
France  us  rode  de  train  clear  across  de  country. 
Jes'  broke  loose  f'm  de  army  in  time  to  keep  f'm 
gittin'  sent  to  Russia — place  whah  dey  bury  you. 
What  you  doin'  heah?" 

Honey  Tone  evaded  a  direct  answer.  "How's 
all  de  rest  ob  de  boys'?" 

"Ain't  seed  'em.  Me  an'  Cap'n  Jack  came  back 
casual." 

"Whah  at's  he  now?" 

"Livin'  heah.  Memphis  is  de  Cap'n's  home 
town.  Us  jus'  got  in  heah  yes' day.  F'm  now  on 
I  works  fo'  Cap'n  Jack.  Ain't  much  to  do,  an' 
Cap'n's  lady  sho'  foun'  a  good  cook.  I  aims  to  eat 
heavy  f'm  now  on  to  ketch  up  wid  whut  I  misse'd 
in  de  army.  Whut  is.  you  doin',  'sides  lookin'  fo' 
easy  money?" 

Honey  Tone,  the  ex-uplifter,  was.  silent  for  a  min 
ute,  and  then  his  organizing  instinct  welled  strong. 

"Me?  I's  organizin'  a  Returned  Heroes'  Parade. 
Us  Konk'rin'  Heroes  what  wore  de  army  unifawm 
jines  in  de  gran'  ruckus." 


LADY   LUCK  21 

"Sho!  Honey  Tone,  whut  yo'  mean  army  uni- 
fawm?  You  was  'fested  with  letheh  straps  an'  up 
pity  talk  when  I  knowed  you  fust.  Now  you  talks 
plain  niggah." 

"Sounds  more  homelike."  Honey  Tone  did  not 
feel  constrained  to  explain  the  finesse  which  prompt 
ed  him  to  abandon  the  vocabulary  which  he  had 
derived  from  a  year's  schooling  and  considerable 
subsequent  speech-making. 

"Aftah  de  parade  mebbe  us  organizes  de  Colored 
Militarriers  of  America.  I's  been  ponderin'  con 
siderable  how  come  some  ob  you  ain't  started  dat 
lodge  yet?  Dues  a  dollah  a  month.  Parades  fo' 
baptisin's,  marryin's,  and  funerals.  Special  buryin' 
department  wheh  you  gits  crematized  or  secluded  in 
de  ground  as  you  prefers,  dependin'  whether  you 
pays  fo'  bits  a  week  extra  or  not." 

"Sounds  half  gran' — mebbe  folks  takes  up  wid  it. 
OP  parade  sho'  sounds  noble."  In  common  with 
other  overseas  veterans,  the  Wildcat  listened  strong 
to  the  appeal  made  by  the  jingling  hardware  of 
heroism.  He  had  visions  of  himself  prancin'  along 
where  white  folks  could  look  at  him — visions  which 
included  an  O.  D.  uniform  plentifully  festooned 
with  wound  stripes,  coloured  ribbons,  service  chev 
rons,  and  a  few  decorative  military  crosses. 

The  group  about  the  crap  table  thinned  out.  The 
Wildcat  picked  up  the  dice.  "Does  you  crave  high 


22  LADY   LUCK 

life,  Honey  Tone,  read  a  chapteh  f'm  de  clickers." 

"I  might  ride  a  couple  of  r'ars,"  the  uplifter  con 
ceded. 

The  Wildcat  produced  a  bulky  roll.  Several 
pairs  of  gleaming  eyeballs  about  him  testified  to 
the  exceptional  dimensions  of  his  capital. 

To  the  Wildcat's  surprise  Honey  Tone  hauled 
out  a  wallet  in  which  lay  a  thick  package  of  twenty- 
dollar  bills.  Hope  burned  strong  in  the  Wildcat's 
chest,  and  with  the  flame  of  hope  the  Wildcat 
warmed  the  dice  within  his  hand. 

"Shoots  ten  dollahs.  Fade  me,  Honey  Tone, 
cloes  you  crave  action." 

"You's  faded." 

"Wham!  Ah  lets  it  lay.  Shoots  twenty  dol 
lahs." 

"Roll  'em."  Honey  Tone  dropped  a  twenty- 
dollar  bill,  which  landed  as  gently  as  a  snowflake 
on  the  green  surface  of  the  table.  "Bam!  Five 
an'  a  deuce.'* 

Under  the  heat  of  the  Wildcat's  luck  the  uplifter's 
green  snowflake  melted  into  his  opponent's  roll. 

"Ah  lets  it  lay.  Shoots  fo'ty.  Fo'ty  ways. 
Shower  down,  Honey  Tone.  Mah  luck  builds 
homes  fo'  de  ignorant  poor.  I's  got  de  musk  smell. 
Bam !  Land,  little  Dove  ob  Peace.  Land  wid  yo' 
bill  full  ob  greens.  An'  I  reads  fo'  tray !" 

The  Wildcat  gathered  in  his  winnings.     He  laid' 


LADYLUCK  23 

a  twenty-dollar  bill  on  the  green  table.     "Fade  me 
is  you  frantic." 

Honey  Tone  covered  the  bet. 

"Gallopers,  pay  de  rent.  Wham!  Morning, 
rainbow.  Wah  just  begun.  Dove  ob  Peace  got 
one  hot  end,  like  a  hornet.  Gallopers,  see  kin  yo' 
uplift  de  Honey  Tone  Jack." 

The  dice  raced  on  their  victorious  way. 

Twenty  minutes  later  Honey  Tone  Boone  picked 
up  the  cubes.  The  capital  in  his  leather  pocket 
book  had  dwindled  to  a  pair  of  weak-looking  dollar 
bills.  He  reached  into  his  pocket,  and  his  hand 
came  forth  clutching  a  rubber-banded  cylinder  of 
currency  whose  external  unit  was  a  yellow  ob 
ligation  wherein  the  United  States  Government 
promised  to  pay  the  bearer  fifty  dollars  in  gold 
coin,  providing  the  Democrats  overlooked  that 
much. 

Honey  Tone  voiced  his  challenge. 

"Shoots  a  hund'ed  dollahs.  De  big  coin  keeps  de 
pikers  out." 

The  Wildcat  batted  his  eyes,  but  rallied  nobly 
and  covered  Honey  Tone's  bet  with  five  twenties. 
"Roll  'em,"  he  said  huskily. 

Honey  Tone,  rolling  'em,  neglected  to  advertise 
the  fact  that  when  he  reached  for  his  new  stake  he 
had  switched  the  dice. 

"Seven.     Shoots  two  hund'ed." 


24  LADY   LUCK 

'Talk  to  'em,  Honey  Tone."  One  of  the  up- 
lifter's  admirers  offered  verbal  encouragement. 

"Dey  does  de  talkin'.  Shower  down,  Wildcat. 
Shoots  two  hund'ed." 

The  Wildcat  hesitated. 

"Shower  down,"  Honey  Tone  repeated.  "You 
craves  action.  Git  in  de  collar.  Don't  stan'  theh 
poisoned  on  one  foot,  like  de  iron  lady  in  de  park." 

The  Wildcat  glanced  about  him.  He  saw  several 
pairs  of  heavy  lips  curling  in  the  bow  of  derision. 
He  counted  out  a  handful  of  greenbacks.  "  'At's 
two  hund'ed,"  he  said  heavily.  "Roll  'em."  His 
neck  itched.  He  sensed  the  impact  of  the  axe. 
"How  come  I  crazy?" 

The  rolling  dice  halted.  The  class  in  addition 
announced  that  four  and  three  made  seven. 

"I  mows  de  lettuce."  Honey  Tone  picked  up  his 
winnings.  "Shoots  a  hund'ed." 

The  Wildcat  audited  his  capital.  "Sixty's  all  I 
got." 

"Shoots  sixty." 

The  Wildcat  took  a  deep  breath  and  held  on  to  it 
until  he  read  on  the  clicking  cubes  the  final  message 
of  disaster. 

"Whuf!  'At's  me."  Honey  Tone  looked  at 
his  victim,  and  in  the  glance  of  triumph  glowed  the 
dull  fire  of  accomplished  revenge. 


LADY   LUCK  25 

"Dem  bones  says  who  is  de  Konk'rin'  Hero.  Dey 
knows," 

The  Wildcat  picked  up  the  dice  and  looked  them 
over  carefully,  "Dice,  wuz  clothes  a  nickel  I'se 
nekked — an*  you  done' it." 

Honey  Tone  reached  for  the  &ce.  "How.come*?" 
he  objected, 

"Dese  dice  knows  so  much  Ah  thought  mebbe 
dey's  educated.." 

The  uplif  ter  was  glad  enough  to  ignore  the  remark 
in  his  effort  to  get  the  dice  under  cover.  He 
switched  the  subject  quickly  to  one  which  would  not 
include  an  examination  of  his  paraphernalia  of 
chance.  "I  counts  on  you,  Wilecat,  to  be  colonel  ob 
de  parade." 

"Me?'  The  Wildcat  sobered  under  the  re 
sponsibility. 

"You  be  de  walkir/  colonel  leadin'  de  Konk'rin' 
Heroes." 

"Whah,  at  does  you  come  in?" 

"I's  de  ridin'  gin'ral  whut  leads." 

"Honey  Tone,  does  you  ride,  I  does.  You  an'  me 
is  'quivalent,  only  I's  mo'  in  dis  Konk'rin'  Hero 
business.  All  de  konk'rin'  you  eveh  done  wuz 
leadin'  de  sleep  squad  o'  else  joy  in'  roun'  In 
Bo'deaux.  No  suh!  Does  you  ride,  I  does.*5 

"De  ridin'  part's  de  hardest.     I  rides  so  you 


26  LADY   LUCK 

boys  kin  see  me  give  signs  whah  at  to  march.  Does 
you  ride,  de  nex'  boy  done  crave  to.  He  say,  'Whah 
at's  mah  mule?'  Fust  thing  yo'  knows,  all  de  Kon- 
k'rin'  Heroes  would  be  on  mules.  Dey  wouldn't  be 
no  more  mules  lef  in  de  world.  Figgeh  out  what 
'ud  happen  to  de  Horn  Band  when  de  mules  heard 
de  toots  an'  started  tromplin'  'em  down.  Figgeh 
out  could  a  band  ride  mules  and  play,  bofe.  Figgeh 
out  some  mo'  wid  yo'  haid,  'stid  of  usin'  it  to  eat  wid 
so  much,  an'  yo'  might  nggeh  out  I's  right." 

The  logic  in  Honey  Tone's  objections  appealed 
to  the  Wildcat.  His  imagination  painted  a  contest 
between  the  Horn  Department  of  the  brunet  brass 
band  and  three  or  four  hundred  stampeding  mules. 
"I  guess  yo'  says  sense,"  he  admitted.  "Us  boys 
walks." 

For  a  little  while  he  and  Honey  Tone  discussed 
the  details  of  the  impending  parade.     "When  us 
passes  de'  gran'stan',"  the  uplifter  specified,"  I  gives 
de  salute.     You  be  leadin'  de  platoon.     When  you 
gits  opposite  de  gran'stan'  yo'  says  'Eyes  right/ 
'At's  all  you  does,  'ceptin'  to  keep  m-archin'." 
"Who's  gwine  to  be  in  de  gran'stan'  ?" 
"In  de  gran'stan'?     Fust  dere'll  be  de  'ception 
committee,  den  all  religious  organizations,  den  all 
de  lodges  an'  grave  clubs,  den  all  de  women  an* 
chillen  whut  ain't  'filiated  wid  nothin'  but  husban's 
an'  kitchen  stoves." 


LADY   LUCK  27 

Throughout  the  discussion  the  Wildcat's  un 
mounted  disappointment  ached  until  it  was  suddenly 
quieted  by  a  detail  of  the  forthcoming  ceremonies 
which  he  did  not  impart  to  his  associate.  In  the 
Wildcat's  brain  was  born  a  scheme  which  promised 
to  balance  the  books  between  him  and  Honey  Tone. 
"Yo'  wife  be  sittin'  hi  de  gran'stan',  I 
s'pose?" 

Honey  Tone  laid  himself  open  to  the  serious  fall 
which  is  the  common  sequel  of  deceit.  "I  ain't  got 
no  wife." 

"Thought  yo'  tol'  me  you  wuz  a  married  man 
when  Ah  knowed  you  fust."  The  Wildcat  was  in 
dulging  in  a  little  exploration. 

"Did  I  say  I  wuz  married  I  must've  been  crazy 
o'  lyin'." 

"You  is  both,"  the  Wildcat  inwardly  reflected. 
"  'At's  at,"  he  said  to  Honey  Tone.  "On'y,  wid  so 
much  'flooence,  it  'pears  like  you'd  furnish  yo'  own 
mule." 

"Ain't  I  made  yo'  Supreem  Gran*  Arrangeh? 
You  p'vides  de  mule.  I  takes  care  o'  rentin'  de' 
gran'stan'  at  de  ball  park  an'  spreadin'  de  publicity. 
Afterwards  us  has  a  gran'  rally.  Mebbe  I  makes  a 
speech." 

With  the  details  of  the  program  accomplished, 
the  defeated  Wildcat  left  the  Konk'rin'  Hero  in  the 
barber  shop  and  made  his  way  toward  Captain  Jack's 


28  LADY   LUCK 

home  and  the  woodshed  wherein  was  tethered  the 
mascot  goat. 

Halfway  up  the  alley  which  led  to  the  woodshed 
the  Wildcat  spoke  aloud  in  the  darkness.  "Kon- 
k'rin'  Hero!  Him  ridin'  de  mule  an'  us  boys-ridin' 
ouah  feet.  Huh!  Fs  de  Supreem  Gran'  Walkin* 
Arrangeh,  is  I?  Well,  tomorrow  I  starts  arrangin'." 
His  monologue  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  an  ex 
plosive  braying  which  burst  from  the  woodshed 
adjoining  the  one  in  which  rested  Lily.  The  Wild 
cat  surrendered  to  his  racing  legs  and  galloped  a 
panic  jazz  to  the  exit  of  the  alley  before  his  common- 
sense  reacted.  "Sho!  Me  a  Konk'rin'  Hero!"  He 
chuckled  softly  to  himself.  "OP  mule  whut  b'longs 
to  Cap'n  Jack's  neighbour  sho'  unkonkered  me." 

He  retfaced  his  steps  until  he  came  to  the  door  of 
Captain  Jack's  woodshed.  He  opened  the  door  and 
entered.  From  the  darkness  his  mascot  goat  greeted 
him-. 

"Blaa!"  said  Lily. 

"Ain't  yo'  asleep  yit?  Mebbe  dat  damn  ol'  mule 
woke  you  up.  Git  to  sleep!"  The  Wildcat  re 
moved  his  shoes  and  lay  down  on  a  rickety  bed  in 
a  corner  of  the  woodshed.  "I'll  do  the  arrangin', 
Honey  Tone,"  he  mumbled.  His  lower  jaw  sagged, 
and  into  his  open  mouth  whined  a  lone  mosquito. 
At  the  portals  of  sleep  his  night  was  again  inter 
rupted  by  the  mule  in  the  adjoining  shed. 


LADY    LUCK  29 

"Dat's  de  night-brayin'est  jug-head  Ah  eveh  seed. 
Wuss'n  a  midnight  roosteh  drunk  wid  moonlight." 
He  was  about  to  launch  a  few  burning  curses  from 
a  vocabulary  which  the  mule  could  saggitate,  when 
a  new  thought  was  born  to  him.  He  lay  silent,  star 
ing  above  him  into  the  darkness. 

"Ps  de  Supreem  Gran'  Arrangeh!"  he  suddenly 
exclaimed.  "Ps  de  double  Grandes'  Arrangeh 
whut  is !"  A  faint  bleat  sounded  from  the  darkness. 
"Shut  up,  Lily !  Fo'  I  gits  th'oo  arrangin',  yo'  an* 
me  bofe  rides  de  mule  does  us  crave  to." 


CHAPJER   II 
I. 

THE  following  morning  the  Wildcat  gorged 
himself  on  a  ponderous  breakfast.     "Sho'  is 
noble  ham.     Yo'  sho'  is  de  grandes'  cook 
whut  is.     Wondeh  how  come  oP  Honey  Tone  neveh 
'spressed  himse'f  about  yo"?" 

"  'At  niggah  neveh  wuz  home  enough  to  git 
'quainted." 

The  Wildcat  looked  sidewise  at  the  cook.  "Last 
night  I  meets  up  wid  a  boy  in  de  barber  shop  whut 
knows  Honey  Tone  pussonal.  He  says  'at  triflin' 
uplifteh  claims  to  bein'  single — claims  he  neveh  had 
no  wife." 

The  culinary  Amazon  picked  up  a  frying  pan  and 
brought  it  down'on  the  top  of  the  range  with  a  re 
sounding  bang.  "He  claims,  does  he*?  Wunst  Ah 
gits  mah  hooks  in  'at  nigger's  head,  all  he  claims  is 
funeral  benefits !" 

The  Wildcat  suggested  that  Honey  Tone  was 
probably  far,  far  away  and  established  as  the  centre 
of  another  family  circle.  The  cook  reacted  nobly. 

He  waited  until  the  avoirdupois  cyclone  had 
cooled  off.  Something  in  the  cook's  energetic  rage 

30 


LADY   LUCK  31 

suggested  the  activities  of  the  Wildcat's  former  land 
lady,  Cuspidora  Lee,  from  whom  he  had  occasionally 
borrowed  tobacco  money.  He  determined  to  visit 
his  former  boarding  house  and  renew  his  financial 
relations. 

"You  has  my  sympathy  bofe  ways,"  he  said  to  the 
cook.  "Yo}  is  married  up  wid  a  no-account  triflin* 
yellow  uplifteh.  Is  he  wid  you,  you  is  mis' able,  an' 
is  he  A.  W.  O.  L.  yo'  is  twice  'at  much.  Wuz  I  you, 
when  you  meets  up  wid  him  I'd  bleed  him  by  han'. 
But  don'  you  grieve.  Neveh  min'.  Some  day 
yo'  meets  up  wid  him.  .  .  .  Den  yo'  pays  him  back." 

2. 

The  Wildcat  left  the  kitchen.  He  carried  a 
bouquet  of  cabbage  leaves  to  Lily,  who  was  tethered; 
at  the  woodshed  door.  "Eat  heavy,  Lily,"  he  com 
manded.  "Yo'  neveh  got  no  reliable  greens  like  dis 
when  yo'  wuz  in  France."  He  hazed  Lily  into  the 
woodshed  and  departed  on  his  way  to  visit  Miss 
Cuspidora  Lee.  He  found  the  Lee  personage  per 
spiring  darkly  in  the  clouds  of  heat  that  billowed 
from  a  red-hot  cookstove. 

"Cuspido',  I  bids  yo'  mawin',"  he  said  briefly. 

Cuspidora  Lee  turned  upon  him.  "Fo5  de  Lawd 
sake,  you  scared  me!  If  it  ain't  Vitus  Marsden. 
Prodigal,  come  heah!  Whah  at  is  you  been?" 
The  Wildcat  was  engulfed  in  an  embrace  which  re- 


32  LADY   LUCK 

minded  him  of  the  time  he  had  been  buried  under 
seven  tons  of  fermented  hay. 

He  came  to  the  surface.  "Guspido',  sho'  is 
glad  to  see  you.  Whah  at's  dem  pussonal  preserves 
you  'scribed  'bout  in  yo'  letteh?" 

"Sit  down  till  I  feeds  yo'.  Is  you  as  hungry  as 
you  always  wuz  I  reckon  you  massacrees  all  de  vittles 
in  de  house." 

After  the  Wildcat  had  eaten  within  an  inch  of  his 
life  he  sat  back  from  the  table  and  took  a  deep 
breath.  "Whuf!  Stomach's  gittin'  so  big  mah 
arms  won'  reach  pas'  it.  Does  it  keep  on  mebbe 
Ah's  'bliged  to  turn  roun'  an'  eat  backwa'ds.  Sho'  is 
noble  rashuns.  Noblest  rashuns  I  eveh  et  wuz 
heah." 

He  consumed  an  hour  recounting  his  adventures 
in  France  for  the  benefit  of  Cuspidora  Lee.  At  the 
conclusion  of  the  recital  the  Wildcat  was  invited  to 
make  his  abode  in  the  Lee  residence. 

"Craves  to,  Cuspido',  but  Ah  kain't.  Ol'  Cap'n 
Jack  needs  me.  Wunst  I  leaves  ol'  Cap'n,  dat  boy 
run  wild  an'  Ah  finds  him  out  in  San  F'mcisco. 
Ah'll  be  draggin'  'long  now.  Sees  yo'  in  de  gran'- 
stan'  at  de  ball  park  during  de  Konk'rin'  Heroes' 
Parade  nex'  Thursday." 

"You  sees  me  befo'  dat.  I's  givin'  a  weegee 
pa'ty  We'n'sday  night,  an'  I  bids  yo'  welcome." 

"How  come  weegee?" 


LADY   LUCK  33 

"Ain't  you  know  weegee — little  boa'd  whut  points 
out  is  you  or  ain't  you  an'  how  come  in  de  pas', 
present,  an'  future*?" 

"Sho !     How  de  boa'd  know4?" 

"Spirits.  Man  whut  sells  de  boa'ds  runs  de 
spirits." 

"Is  you  tryin'  to  plague  me?" 

"You  come  heah  Wensday  night  an'  see  is  I." 

The  Wildcat  returned  to  Captain  Jack's  residence. 
"Sho'  is  gran'  to  git  home,"  he  reflected.  "Parades, 
weegee  pa'ties — fust  thing  I  knows  Ah'll  be  claimed 
by  de  church  sociables.  Sho'  beats  France.  Stays 
heah  an'  works  fo'  ol'  Cap'n  Jack,  eats  me  heavy, 
raises  Lily,  'filiates  at  de  barber  shop  wid  de  boys. 
Sho'  beats  de  A.  E.  F.  wah  bizness." 

His  daydreaming  was  interrupted  by  Captain 
Jack's  commanding  voice. 

"Wildcat,  come  here." 

"Cap'n,  yessuh." 

"I'm  going  away  for  three  months,"  Captain  Jack 
abruptly  announced.  Then  he  added:  "Keep 
your  eye  on  things." 

"Cap'n,  yessuh.  Goin'  'way!  .  .  .,  When  does 
us  staht?" 

"Us  don't  start.  For  once  in  my  life  I  hope  to 
go  some  place  and  come  back  without  being  hounded 
by  my  Wildcat  nigger." 

"Cap'n,  yessuh.     Whut  beats  me  is  how  yo'  aims 


34  LADY   LUCK 

to  git  along  widout  me  takin'  keer  o'  you.  You 
neveh  wuz  no  single  thriveh." 

"I'll  get  -along  without  you.  Go  in  and  lock  up 
the  trunks." 

"Mis'  Cap'n  Jack  gwine  wid  you?" 

"I'll  say  she  is.  Whither  I  goeth  there  shall  she 
also  go.  Git  those  trunks  fixed  up." 

With  the  departure  of  the  master  of  the  house  a 
cloud  of  melancholy  settled  about  the  Wildcat  which 
was  not  dispelled  until  suppertime. 


On  Wednesday  night  the  Wildcat  soused  him 
self  with  bay  rum  and  musk.  About  his  neck,  in 
lieu  of  a  collar,  he  wrapped  the  spliced  sleeves  of  a 
discarded  silk  shirt  whose  cerise  dyes  had  barred  it 
from  Captain  Jack's  wardrobe.  On  his  feet  he  wore 
a  pair  of  patent  leather  violins  whose  tight  interiors 
had  been  plentifully  massaged  with  axle  grease. 

He  started  out  with  his  mascot.  "C'm  on  heah, 
Lily — you  stahts  gittin'  social  wid  quality  folks. 
How  come  dese  shoes  pinches  all  de  time  sho'  beats 
me.  By  rights  I  weahs  twelves.  Man  whut  sold 
dese  shoes  said  dey  wuz  fifteens — feels  like  sho' 
take  bofe  to  make  'at  much.  But  when  dey  sees  dis 
heah  neckerchief  dey  won't  notice  de  shoes." 

Halfway  to  the  weegee  party  he  removed  the 
shoes  and  carried  them  in  his  hand  to  the  portals  of 


LADY   LUCK  35 

the  Lee  establishment.  He  sat  down  outside  the 
door  of  the  ouija  castle  and  put  on  his  shoes.  He 
tethered  Lily  at  the  step  and  knocked  at  the  door. 
A  moment  later  he  was  being  greeted  by  twenty 
friends  and  half  as  many  strangers. 

"Befo5  I  turns  down  de  lights,"  the  hostess  an 
nounced,  "I  wants  you  to  meet  up  wid  Colonel 
Boone,  one  ob  de  culled  heroes  whut  made  de  wah 
safe  fo'  white  folks.  Colonel  Boone,  say  howdy  at 
Misteh  Marsden." 

The  Wildcat  and  the  uplifter  again  stood  face  to 
face.  "Honey  Tone,  how  come  Cuspido'  calls  you 
'Colonel'?" 

"By  rights  'at's  mah  rank." 

"By  rights  you  is  rank."  The  Wildcat  turned  to 
his  brunette  hostess.  "Ah  knows  dis  Boone  man. 
Met  up  wid  him  in  France.  How  come  he  pro- 
jectin'  roun'  heah<?" 

Cuspidora  was  quick  to  sense  a  rift  of  jealousy  in 
the  social  lute.  "He's  aimin'  to  claim  me  fo'  a 
weddin'  mate." 

She  made  haste  to  switch  the  deal. 

"Blow  out  dat  light,  Sis'  Mosby."  She  reached 
for  a  second  coal  oil  lamp  and  turned  it  down  until 
the  room  was  hardly  light  enough  to  distinguish  the 
black  letters  on  the  ouija  board  which  lay  on  the 
table.  The  uplifter  deflected  the  impending  em 
barrassment  which  might  develop*  from  continued 


36  LADY   LUCK 

conversation  with  the  Wildcat  by  functioning  as 
master  of  ceremonies. 

"Rally  roun'.  Spirits  is  willin*  if  de  flesh  ain't 
weak.  Wilecat,  fondle  de  weegee  board  an'  take  a 
ra'r  at  seem'  whut  de  future  holds." 

"How  come?" 

"Dis  corner  says,  Yes.'  Dat  corner  says,  'No.' 
De  little  board  slides  Yes  or  No,  dependin'  how  de 
spirits  answers  whut  yo'  asks." 

The  cross-examination  of  Mr.  Ouija  and  his  tal 
ented  aggregation  of  spirits  endured  for  an  hour,  dur 
ing  which  time  a  number  of  interesting  facts  con 
cerning  various  members  of  the  assemblage  became 
public  property. 

The  Wildcat,  returning  from  an  enjoyed  battle 
at  the  refreshment  corner  of  Cuspidora  Lee's  parlor, 
wedged  his  way  into  the  group  about  the  ouija  board 
and  laid  a  heavy  hand  thereon.  The  memory  of 
Cuspidora's  statement  concerning  her  love  affair 
with  Honey  Tone  rankled  within  him. 

"Spirits,"  he  said,  "I  axes  yo'  is  I  married?" 

Ouija  answered,  "No." 

"Is  Honey  Tone  Boone  married"?" 

The  board  became  a  battlefield.  Presently  the 
tight  tendons  of  the  uplifter's  hand  showed  grey 
against  his  skin,  but  without  avail,  because  the  Wild 
cat's  little  finger  lay  tight  against  the  perimeter  of 


LADYLUCK  37 

the  moving  planchette.  Impelled  by  the  Wildcat's 
little  finger  the  implacable  spirits  hazed  Weegee 
to  the  "Yes"  corner  of  the  board. 

Honey  Tone's  defeated  ringers  relaxed.  "Dat's 
de  lyin'est  board  I  eveh  see.  How  come  yo'  gits  a 
lyin'  weegee  board,  Mis'  Lee^" 

"Spirits  neveh  lies."  The  hostess  defended  her 
unseen  assistants. 

"Ain't  no  lyin'  lef  to  do  afteh  dese  upliftehs  gits 
th'oo,"  the  Wildcat  commented. 

A  little  later,  apart  from  the  other  guests,  the 
Wildcat  asked  Cuspidora  Lee  *  a  direct  question. 
"OP  Honey  Tone  been  representin'  he's  single4?" 

The  Wildcat's  brunette  hostess  hesitated.  "To? 
me  he  neveh  seed  nobody  befo',"  she  admitted 
— "toP  me  his  love-eye  neveh  seed  nobody  'ceptin' 
me." 

"All  'at  boy's  love-eye  seed  is  de  p'visions  in  yo' 
kitchen.  Ah  knows  him.  Acts  like  de  yelleh  nig- 
gah  whut  he  is — prancin'  round  uppity  in  France 
— comes  back  heah  callin'  himself  'Colonel,'  'count 
he  wore  oilcloth  leggin's  an'  drunk  coonyak  whilst 
us  boys  wuz  nghtin'  de  battle  of  Bo'deaux." 

Cuspidora  Lee  listened  with  eager  ears.  "I  runs 
him  out  now,  the  flea-bit  houn',"  she  finally  an 
nounced. 

"Ca'm  yo'se'f.     Don'  git  to  brindlin'.     Come  out 


38  LADYLUCK 

to  de  ball  park  tomorr5  at  de  parade  an*  you  sees 
him  leadin'  us  Culled  Heroes." 

Honey  Tone  Boone  meanwhile  had  charmed  a 
dozen  of  his  male  and  female  auditors  with  Mister 
Ouija's  spiritual  assistance. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  coal  oil  lamps  were  again 
lighted  and  the  guests  employed  themselves  in  the 
pleasurable  business  of  consuming  such  refreshments 
as  the  Wildcat  had  overlooked.  The  evening  ended 
with  a  general  announcement  from  the  uplifter,  in 
which  he  invited  the  assemblage  to  be  present  on 
the  following  day  at  the  parade  of  the  Konk'rin' 
Culled  Heroes. 

"As  de  Supreem  Gran'  Organizeh  Ah  bids  yo' 
welcome,"  he  concluded. 

From  the  darkness  outside  came  a  sardonic  echo. 
"Blaa!"  Lily  the  mascot  had  seen  fit  to  accept  the 
uplifter's  invitation. 

When  the  party  broke  up,  the  uplifter  showed  an 
inclination  to  linger  after  the  Wildcat  made  his 
departure,  but  presently  h'e  realized  the  failure  of 
his  ambition. 

"Come  on  heah,  Honey  Tone,"  the  Wildcat  in 
vited.  "I  walks  a  ways  wid  yoV 

Once  along  the  dark  street  Honey  Tone  sought 
to  review  the  ouija  performance.  "What  fo'  wuz 
you  shovin'  weegee  an'  makin'  de  spirits  say  'yes* 
when  they  craved  to  say  cno'  ?" 


LADY   LUCK  39 

"How  come  shovin"?  Spirits  does  de  shovin'. 
Ol'  weegee  tells  de  truf.  Yo'  sho'  is  married,  ain't 
yo"?" 

"I  tells  you  once  I  ain't.  I  tells  you  now  I  ain't. 
Don'  say  no  mo'." 

"When  you  talks  'at  way  you  sho'  sounds  lak  a 
Gunnel,  Honey  Tone." 

The  Wildcat  switched  the  conversation  to  the  de 
tails  of  the  parade. 

"Is  all  de  'rangements  done*?" 
"  'Rangements  done,  'ceptin'  de  mule  I  rides." 
"Ah'll  git  de  mule.     Whah  at  does  I  meet  you*?" 
"Parade  stahts  at  noon  f'm   Willie  Webster's 
barbeh  shop.     Us  marches  th'oo  town  an'  hoi's  de 
gran'  review  at  de  ball  park." 

A  little  farther  down  the  street  the  two  halted. 
"Whah  at  does  you  live,  Honey  Tone?"  the  Wild 
cat  inquired. 

Honey  Tone  did  not  see  fit  to  reveal  the  location 
of  his  present  domicile.  "Down  de  street  a  ways," 
he  said. 

The  pair  parted.  "Don'  fo'git  mah  parade- 
leadin'  mule  fo'  tomorrow,"  Honey  Tone  admon 
ished,  "an3  'blige  me  by  not  referrin'  no  mo'  to  no 
wife  whut  I  ain't  got." 

"Ah'll  'blige  him,"  the  Wildcat  mentally  con 
ceded.  "Afteh  tomorrow  Ah  don't  need  to  do  no 
wife-referrin'  'bout  Honey  Tone." 


40  LADY   LUCK 

The  Wildcat  went  to  sleep  that  night  enjoying 
the  details  of  a  plan  wherein  Honey  Tone's  radiant 
future  was  considerably  overcast  by  the  clouds  of 
retribution. 


CHAPTER   III 
i. 

AT  breakfast  on  the  following  morning  he 
repeated  his  invitation  to  Captain  Jack's 
cook.  "OF  Cap'n  an'  de  Lady  bofe  gone 
away.  No  need  you  stayin'  roun*  here  all  de  time. 
Git  to  de  gran'stan'  early  an'  git  a  front  seat. 
Mebbe  you'll  meet  up  wid  one  ob  mah  pussonal  lady 
fren's — Cuspidora  Lee,  whut  I  boa'ded  wid  befo' 
de  wah  claimed  me.  Cuspido'  said  she  g'wine  to 
weah  a  big  pink  hat  wid  yaller  feathers,  'At's  how 
you  knows  her.  You  sees  me  an'  mah  mascot  when 
us  swings  pas'  de  gran'  stan'.  Ah' 11  be  follerin'  de 
Supreem  Leader.  He  be  ridin'  a  mule." 

The  Wildcat  spent  the  next  half  hour  festooning 
his  mascot  goat  with  raiment  appropriate  for  the 
grand  march.  Lily's  O.  D.  service  coat  was  bright 
ened  with  a  red  tissue  paper  sash.  The  Wildcat 
sewed  a  turkey  wing  fan  to  the  mascot's  overseas  cap 
and  wired  the  gaudy  combination  securely  in  place 
between  Lily's  horns. 

"Hot  dam!  I  says  you  parades."  For  himself 
he  borrowed  a  few  things  which  lay  here  and  there 

41 


42  LADY   LUCK 

in  the  trunk  room  of  Captain  Jack's  house.  He 
stowed  his  own  paraphernalia  in  a  gunnysack. 
Leading  Lily,  he  made  his  way  to  the  neighbour's 
woodshed  wherein  was  stabled  the  overgrown  night- 
braying  mule. 

"Gimme  dis  heah  mule,  boy — an'  a  saddle,"  he 
said  to  the  brunet  guardian  of  the  neighbour's  mule. 
"I  needs  him  temporary." 
"How  come?' 

"I  craves  him  fo'  de  Culled  Heroes'  Parade. 
Some  day  I  gives  you  two  bits  does  you  lend  him 
half  a  day.  All  he  does  in  heah  is  eat  you  po'  an' 
wake  folks  up." 

"Whah  at's  de  two  bits'?"  The  exchange  was 
effected,  and  presently,  leading  the  mule  and  the 
festooned  mascot,  the  Wildcat  arrived  at  the  ren 
dezvous  in  front  of  Willie  Webster's  establishment. 
He  tethered  the  mule  to  a  hitching  post  and  led  Lily 
into  the  barber  shop. 

"How  come  de  goat?"  one  of  the  assemblage 
questioned. 

"See  dem  stripes'?  Lily  went  th'oo  more  battles 
dan  you  has  sense.  F'm  now  on,  whah  at  I  is,  Lily 
is.  Bible  says,  "Whah  at  de  goat,  dere  is  Ah  also 
goat.'  Stan*  up  heah,  Lily." 

The  mascot  was  vainly  endeavouring  to  eat  the 
feathers  from  the  top  of  her  own  head. 


LADY   LUCK  43 

"Ca'm  yo'se'f.  Whah  at's  de  Supreem  Parade 
Leadeh?" 

Honey  Tone  Boone  stepped  out  of  the  adjoining 
room.  '"At  you,  Wildcat?  Whah  at's  mail 
steed?'* 

"Hitched  outdoors.  Sho'  is  rarin'  to  go. 
Parade-leadinest  mule  Ah  eveh  see." 

Honey  Tone  took  a  look  through  the  window  at 
his  conspicuous  mount.  "Sure  looms  up.  How 
come  de  goat?" 

"  'At  goat's  mah  pussonal  luck." 
Honey  Tone  looked  sideways  at  the  Wildcat. 
"Does  yo'  feel  like  backin'  yo'  luck  wid  a  jingle, 
mebbe  I  'bliges  yo'  sudden.  Dey's  a  racetrack  in 
de  back  room  does  you  crave  to  gallop  yo'  luck  a 
couple  of  heats." 

The  Wildcat  accepted  the  challenge.  The  pair 
walked  quickly  into  the  back  room. 

"Shoots  a  dollah!"  He  explored  himself  for  sil 
ver  and  revised  his  challenge.  "Shoots  fifty  cents. 
Ain't  got  but  sixty,  an'  I  needs  a  dime  fo'  goobers 
does  I  lose." 

"Boy,  roll  'em."  Honey  Tone  proffered  a  pair 
of  anxious  dice,  but  the  Wildcat  paid  no  attention 
to  the  offer. 

"I  got  mah  pussonal  weapons,"  he  said.  He 
fished  a  pair  of  dice  from  his  left  shoe.  "Dey  speaks 


44  LADY   LUCK 

de  language.     Gallopehs,  git  right.     Wham!     AH 
tol*  you !     Ah  lets  it  lay.     Shoots  a  dollah." 

Honey  Tone  faded  the  bet.  "Roll  'em."  The 
Wildcat  touched  the  tips  of  his  fingers  to  Lily's 
head.  "Goat,  stan'  by  me."  His  swinging  hand 
released  a  pair  of  dice  whose  innocent  upturned 
faces  presently  revealed  a  four  and  a  trey.  "Seven ! 
Ah  lets  it  lay.  Whole  hog  o'  de  squeal." 

"Roll  'em!" 

"Bam.  Six  an'  five.  Ah  done  climbed  de  luck 
tree.  Honey  Tone,  shake  me.  out.  Shoots  fo'  dol- 
lahs.  Lily,  stan'  by  me!" 

"Blaa!"  remarked  Lily. 

"Boy,  roll  'em."  Honey  Tone  began  to  itch  for 
possession  of  the  dice. 

"Asleep  in  de  snowdrift.  When  Lily  says  cblaa' 
Ah  lets  'em  ride." 

"An'  seven !     Ah  lets  it  lay." 

"Shoot,  you  fool,  nobody  neveh  made  five 
passes." 

"Nobody  but  me."  The  Wildcat  opened  his 
du&y  palm  and  a  natural  seven  leaped  to  the  gaze 
of  a  waiting  world.  Honey  Tone's  eyes  bulged  with 
surprise. 

The  Wildcat  accumulated  his  winnings.  From 
the  crumpled  handful  of  bills  he  selected  a  dollar 
bill,  which  he  twisted  into  a  tempting  little  salad 
bouquet.  "Lily,  eat  this  fo'  luck.  Ah  reaps  de 


LADY   LUCK  45 

greens  to  nutrify  mah  mascot !    Shoots  ten  dollahs !" 

Lily  munched  delicately  on  the  dollar  bill  while 
the  Wildcat  continued  with  the  harvest.  The 
deeper  Honey  Tone  sank  into  the  bogs  of  chance, 
the  more  he  resented  the  introduction  of  the  Wild 
cat's  trained  dice.  Once,  in,  the  run  of  hard  luck,  he 
showed,  signs  of  weakening,  but  the  Wildcat  was 
quick  to  rally  him  with  the  adroit  tongue  of  flattery. 

"One  thing  I'll  say  fo'  Honey  Tone — win  or  lose, 
<lat  boy  rides  along.  Sho'  is  a  vet' ran  sport." 

In  the  Wildcat's  compliment  Honey  Tone's  effort 
to  unload  from  the  wreckbound  train  of  chance 
found  defeat.  He  rode  along,  hope  springing  eter 
nal,  until  his  financial  condition  approximated  zero. 

"Shoots  twenty  dollars."  The  Wildcat's  an 
nouncement  leaped  from  a  pair  of  belligerent  lungs. 

"Ain't  got  but  'leven  fifty."  Honey  Tone's  voice 
was  husky. 

"Shoots  'leven  fifty."  The  game  was  delayed  a 
moment  while  the  Wildcat  hunted  for  appropriate 
minor  currency.  "Heah's  de  fifty  cents  I  stahted 
wid.  Lily,  at  ease!"  The  Southern  Hemisphere 
of  the  mascot  subsided. 

"Honey  Tone,  you  sin-'fested  uplifteh,  feel  de 
axe.  Bam!  Dey  reads  four  trey.  Lily,  at  res'." 

The  victorious  Wildcat  added  the  last  of  his 
winnings  to  the  bulky  roll  inside  his  pocket.  "  'At 
winds  yo'  up,  big  boy.  De  Supreem  leadin'  mule 


46  LADYLUCK 

rides  easier  now.     Yo'  weighs  six  hund'ed  dollahs 
less." 

A  unit  on  the  outer  fringe  of  the  pop-eyed  audi 
ence  pressed  forward  to  where  the  Wildcat  stood. 
"Same  ol'  cyclone,"  he  said  in  greeting.  "Wilecat, 
you  'membehs  me1?  I  ain't  seed  sich  a  fust-class 
cleanin'  since  us  fit  de  battle  of  Bo'deaux  an'  yo'  win 
all  de  payday  us  boys  got." 

The  Wildcat  suddenly  recognized  the  speaker. 
"Backslid!  How  come  yo'  heah?  Hot  dog! 
I  sho'  is  glad  to  see  yo'." 

"Ah  come  home  casual,  count  of  stummik  mis'ry 
th'ee  weeks  afteh  yo'  lef  Bo'deaux,"  the  Backslid 
Baptist  explained.  "Sho'  is  glad  to  see  yo'." 

"You  'membehs  Honey  Tone'?"  The  Wildcat 
introduced  the  uplifter.  "Honey  Tone  leads  de 
parade.  Us  starts  in  five  minutes.  Jine  in,  Back 
slid,  an'  yo'  marches  'longside  ob  me  an'  Lily." 

"Sho'  'steem  to,  Wilecat,  but  I  takes  mah  run 
dis  aftehnoon." 
"How  come  run1?" 

"I's  back  on  de  ol'  job  runnin'  Pullman  out  of 
Chicago.  I's  due  out  on  de  Fliah  fo'  Chicago  at 
two-fo'ty.  Any  time  yo'  craves  a  ramble  on  de 
cushions,  roun'  me  up.  Ah  stakes  yo'  to  a  white 
coat  an'  yo'  is  aced  in  as  mah  helpeh.  Pullman 
service  is  crammed  wid  dead-head  helpehs  now  de 


LADY   LUCK  47 

Guv'ment's  runnin'  de  lines.  An'  Boy — once  us 
'rives  at  Chicago  de  gran'  ruckus  begins!" 

"Backslid,  'at  sho'  sounds  noble.  Some  day  me 
an'  Lily  sho'  make  a  trip  wid  you." 

The  Wildcat  and  his  former  associate  were  in 
terrupted  by  Honey  Tone  Boone.  "Wilecat,  you's 
de  Supreem  Arrangeh,  ain't  you*?  Roun'  up  de 
humans.  Fawm  de  parade.  Us  starts." 

The  Wildcat  threw  back  his  head  and  addressed 
the  gathering  in  the  barber  shop.  "Company,  'ten- 
shun !  All  de  niggahs  in  de  room  whut's  gwine  to 
jine  de  gran'  parade,  fall  out  de  do'  an'  fall  in!" 
He  led  the  rush  for  the  exit.  Outdoors  he  repeated 
the  announcement.  "Gran5  parade  led  by  Honey 
Tone  Boone.  Followin'  me  an'  Lily  comes  de  brass 
ban'.  Den  comes  de  Sons  ob  Damon.  Sons  ob 
Damon  wearin'  de  yellah  belly  ban's  walks  ahead. 
Followin'  de  Sons  ob  Damon,  de  Knights  wid  de 
Red  Pants  falls  in.  Parade  marches  fo'  an'  fo', 
ladies  outside.  Keep  off  de  car  tracks.  Followin' 
de  Knights  wid  de  Red  Pants  comes  de  'Filiated 
Toilers. 

"Cornet  Club  comes  nex',  'ceptin'  de  big  bass 
drum.  Fetch  dat  bass  drum  oveh  heah.  Yo' 
marches  by  me." 

He  turned  to  a  group  of  human  beings  whose  sole 
common  characteristic  was  their  colour  and  the 


48  LADY   LUCK 

colour  of  the  sashes  which  were  tied  about  them, 
"Whut  outfit  is  you  boys'?'* 

"Us  is  de  Committee  ob  Culled  Democrats." 

"How  come  they  let  you  out  ob  jail*?  Fall  in 
behin'  de  lunch  wagon.  'At's  whah  you  gin'lly  is." 

The  drum-bamming  giant  took  his  place  opposite 
the  Wildcat.  The  Wildcat  turned  to  the  Supreme 
Organizer  of  the  Culled  Militarriers  of  America. 
"Git  abo'ad  'at  steed,  Honey  Tone,"  he  said. 

Honey  Tone  clambered  on  to  the  mule  with  the 
assistance  of  a  pair  of  agile  bystanders.  The  Wild 
cat  closed  his  eyes  and  lifted  his  head  high  in  the 
air.  "Company,  'tenshun!"  He  turned  to  the 
drum-bammer  opposite  him.  "Le-e-t's  go !" 

"Bam!"  The  crash  inside  the  bass  drum  found 
a  deafening  echo  in  a  blare  of  exploding  horns  and 
cornets.  Lily  shied  close  beside  her  master.  Honey 
Tone's  mule  'drooped  a  languid  ear  over  a  bulging 
eyeball  as  if  to  shut  out  a  vision  of  impending  disas 
ter,  and  then,  at  the  second  note  from  the  bass  drum, 
the  mule  leaped  into  a  wild  gallop.  Before  the 
marchers  had  covered  a  hundred  feet  Honey  Tone 
and  his  jug-head  mount  had  passed  the  fire  hall  three 
blocks  down  the  street. 

The  parade  marched  steadily  toward  the  ball  park. 
Ten  minutes  later  Honey  Tone  and  the  mule 
clattered  past  the  parade.  "Ol'  mule  sho'  steers 


LADY   LUCK  49 

noble,  but  he  kain't  stop,"  the  Wildcat  announced 
to  the  drum-bammer  opposite  him. 

On  Honey  Tone's  third  visit  the  Wildcat  called 
loudly  to  him.  "Head  'at  mule  roun'  nex'  time  an' 
back  him  in  de  ball  park."  The  Supreme  Or 
ganizer's  reply  was  lost  in  a  clatter  of  hoofs. 

2. 

At  the  ball  park  the  parade  waited  for  the  inter 
mittent  uplifter.  As  Honey  Tone  galloped  past 
the  head  of  the  column  he  did  a  Brodie  and  landed 
breathless  against  the  big  bass  drum.  "Boom!" 

"Whuf!"  he  said.  "Ketch  dat  mule!"  The 
hero  blood  pulsed  strong  in  the  veins  of  the  Knights 
with  the  Red  Pants.  They  rallied  to  the  rescue. 
The  organization  deployed,  and  presently  the  big 
night-braying  mule  was  again  delivered  into  Honey 
Tone's  reluctant  hands. 

"Wait  till  Ah  'ranges  'at  steed."  The  Wildcat 
loosened  the  saddle  girth.  Unseen  by  Honey  Tone, 
he  removed  a  small  horseshoe  from  between  the 
saddle  blanket  and  the  mule's  epidermis.  "Sho5 
brings  de  luck.  Some  boy  got  de  luck  hunch  figgered 
wrong.  Git  aboa'd,  Honey  Tone.  Blanket  got 
wrinkled.  He  done  ca'm  down  now.  Ah  knows 
him.  Git  aboa'd  an'  lead  de  parade  into  de  ball 
park  an'  pas'  de  gran'stan'." 


50  LADY   LUCK 

In  the  face  of  the  assemblage  Honey  Tone  could 
not  back  down.  He  mounted  the  mule.  To  his 
surprise  the  animal  walked  slowly  and  with  all  the 
peculiar  dignity  that  a  mule  can  summon.  The  up- 
lifter  looked  down  at  the  Wildcat.  "Line  'em  up 
fo'  de  gran'  entry,"  he  said. 

The  Wildcat  turned  and  called  loudly  to  the 
marching  column.  "Company,  'tenshun!  Heads 
up  fo'  de  gran'  entry."  He  turned  to  his  companion. 
"Keep  de  drum  goin'.  Ah  waits  to  see  de  parade 
git  by  an'  is  eve'ything  arranged  right."  The  Wild 
cat  faded  out.  When  the  end  of  the  marching 
column  passed  him  he  walked  quickly  to  a  police 
man  who  was  standing  near  the  portals  of  the  en 
trance  to  the  ball  park. 

"Cap'n,  suh,"  he  said  to  the  policem'an,  "  'at 
mule  leadin'  de  parade  b' longs  to  Misteh  Joe 
Carroll,  whut's  de  neighbour  ob  Cap'n  Jack  Stuart, 
whah  at  I  wucks.  Ah  ain't  sayin'  'at  ridin'  niggah 
stole  'at  mule,  but  Ah  knows  Misteh  Carroll  neveh 
lent  him.  'At  niggah's  no  good.  Ah  knows  him." 
"What  outfit  is  this  parade1?"  the  officer  asked. 
"Ain't  no  outfit.  'At  triflin'  niggah  on  de  mule 
claims  he's  organizin'  a  new  lodge — gits  folks  wild 
to  jine,  and  den  lif's  de  'nitiation  money.  Nex'  day 
mebbe  turns  up  in  Vicksburg  o'  some  place  else  whah 
some  mo'  fool  niggahs  craves'  to  jine  on  wid  him. 
He  sho'  don'  b'long  here.  Ah  knows  him !" 


LADY   LUCK  51 

A  record  is  a  record.  An  arest  is  an  arrest,  and 
the  capture  of  a  mule  thief  is  a  star  of  magnitude  in 
any  one's  official  crown.  The  policeman  walked  in 
to  the  ball  park  and  headed  across  to  where  a  com 
panion  officer  was  standing  in  front  of  the  grand 
stand.  At  the  moment,  in  the  grandstand  Cuspidora 
Lee  and  Captain  Jack's  cook,  seated  together,  were 
just  beginning  to  get  acquainted.  "Seems  like  I 
knows  dat  boy,"  the  cook  remarked.  "  'At  boy  on 
de  big  mule." 

"I  knows  him  too."  The  tenor  of  pride  rang  in 
Cuspidora's  pronouncement.  "Ah  knows  him  well. 
He's  de  Supreem  Parade  Organizeh.  'At  man's 
rich — on'y  las'  night  at  de  weegee  'semblage  in  mah 
house  he  showed  me  nearly  six  hunn'ed  dollahs. 
When  de  social  visitin'  part  starts  afteh  de  parade 
I  gives  yo'  a  howdy-do,  does  yo'  crave  to  meet  up 
wid  him;  but  don'  git  triflin'  wid  him,  woman. 
'At's  all.  He's  mah  man." 

"How  come?" 

Cuspidora  brindled  engagingly. 

"Us  aims  to  git  married  soon  as  de  local  organ- 
izin'  is  finished." 

"Ain't  it  gran"?     Whut  yo'  say  his  name  is?" 

Honey  Tone  and  his  trailing  parade  were  plodding 
along  toward  Cuspidora  Lee  and  Captain  Jack's 
cook.  When  Honey  Tone  came  closer  Cuspidora 
waved  archly  at  the  Supreme  Organizer. 


52  LADY   LUCK 

"Whut  yo'  say  his  name  is?"  The  ponderous 
cook  at  Cuspidora's  side  repeated  her  question. 

The  Lee  lips  answered  absently.  "Boone — 
Huntington  Boone." 

The  cook  swept  the  back  of  her  hand  across  her 
eyes.  "Boone!  'At's  him!"  She  turned  to 
Cuspidora.  "You  aims  to  marry  him,  does  you? 
Well,  marry  him  sudden.  Ah  aims  to  kill  him.  'At 
niggah  an'  me  married  each  other  two  yeahs  befo' 
he  went  to  wah !" 

The  cook  bellowed  hoarsely  once  in  the  Supreme 
Organizer's  direction.  "Honey  Tone!"  A  shrill 
echo  came  from  Cuspidora's  lips.  The  Supreme 
Organizer  wilted  from  the  deck  of  his  mule.  With 
out  looking  around,  he  started  for  the  entrance  of 
the  ball  park,  but  before  he  had  covered  half  the 
distance  he  was  overtaken  by  a  furious  tigress. 
Cuspidora  Lee  had  outdistanced  Honey  Tone's  wife 
in  her  pursuit  of  the  Organizer,  and  to  her  went  first 
blood.  At  Cuspidora  Lee's  hands  Honey  Tone  took 
the  count  just  in  time  to  get  his  chattering  teeth  full 
of  his  enraged  wife's  crunching  heels.  "Stan5  back, 
Cuspido' !  Ah  aims  to  tromple  ?at  snake  in>  de 
dust!" 

Thereafter,  for  a  space  of  minutes  the  massacre 
proceeded  with  systematic  fury.  It  ended  only 
when  the  policeman  unlimbered  a  wicked  sap  and 


LADY   LUCK  53 

forcibly  dragged  the  battling  brunettes  from  their 
crumpled  victim. 

"Git  to  hell  away  from  that  nigger,"  the  officer 
yelled  at  the  two  women.  With  the  assistance  of  a 
hearty  boost  from  the  policeman,  the  Supreme  Or 
ganizer  struggled  to  his  feet. 

"Lemme  go — lemme  go!"  he  gasped. 

Wham!  The  two- foot  swagger  stick  in  the 
hand  of  the  police  officer  found  its  target.  "Shut 
up,  you  mule-stealin'  baboon.  Come  on  here! 
;You  git  fifty  years  in  jail  if  we  don't  lynch  you!" 

Honey  Tone  Boone,  the  uplifter,  trailed  along 
with  the  policeman. 

The  Wildcat,  with  his  mascot  goat  close  beside 
him  in  the  shadows  of  the  entrance  to  the  ball  park, 
witnessed  the  consummation  of  his  plans.  "Ah'll 
say  I's  de  Supreem  Gran'  Arrangeh!"  he  exulted. 
"Grandes'  'rangeh  whut  is!  Eve'ything  sho'  is 
'ranged  noble." 

He  tied  a  leading-string  around  the  mascot's  neck. 
"Come  on  heah,  Lily.  Us  fades  befo'  Honey  Tone 
busts  loose  f'm  de  jail.  Us  rides  de  Fliah  to  Chicago 
wid  ol'  Backslid.  He's  mah  fren'.  Le's  go!" 


CHAPTER   IV 

"T%   Sf  EMPHIS,  let  me  miss  you!     Feet,  see 
I  ^/ 1      kin  you  trod  de  good-bye  jazz !     Lily, 

JL  »  JL.  le's  go !  Git  in  step !  C'm  on  heah 
befo'  Ah  jerks  yo'  head  loose  f'm  yo'  horns." 

Lily  lagged.  No  guilty  conscience  impelled  the 
mascot  goat.  In  addition  to  this,  lacking  mental 
momentum,  her  progress  was  considerably  impeded 
by  a  parade  uniform  consisting  of  an  O.  D.  army 
shirt  which  dangled  loosely  about  her  forelegs. 

Half  a  block  down  the  street  Lily's  parade  rai 
ment  slipped.  Her  hobbles  tripped  her.  The  gal 
loping  Wildcat  felt  an  added  drag  on  the  leading 
string.  He  glanced  backward  in  his  flight. 

"Goat,  how  come  you  lose  the  cadence?  Dog 
gone  you,  see  kin  you  skid  till  you  gits  in  step." 

Lily  bought  the  next  fifty  yards  with  an  expendi 
ture  of  some  epidermis  and  two  ounces  of  goat  hair. 

She  regained  her  feet,  staggering  under  a  ponder 
ous  ambition  for  revenge.  Forty  feet  from  the  Cal- 
houn  Street  curb  she  took  careful  aim  at  the  Wild 
cat  and  stepped  on  the  accelerator.  The  Wildcat 
coasted  into  Calhoun  Street  with  his  parade-leading 
Prince  Albert  flapping  straight  out  behind  him.  He 

54 


LADYLUCK  55 

skidded  over  the  curb  in  a  pose  which  cost  his  army 
pants  half  of  their  seating  capacity. 

Inertia  claimed  him.  He  rolled  his  head  slowly 
over  his  shoulder  and  gazed  in  bewilderment  upon 
his  prancing  Nemesis. 

"Lily,  at  ease!"  The  go'at  ambled  up  beside 
him.  "At  res' !" 

The  Wildcat  grabbed  for  the  mascot's  leading 
string.  "You  an'  me  declares  peace.  Ah  done 
wrong  when  Ah  drug  you,  but  now  see  kin  you  ram 
ble.  Ah  craves  to  reach  de  Chicago  Fliah  whah  at 
de  ol'  Backslid  Baptis'  is  porter,  so  us  kin  leave 
town  without  leadin'  no  mob." 

"Blaa!"  Lily  answered  in  forgiveness. 

About  the  mascot's  chest  the  Wildcat  adjusted 
the  O.  D.  shirt  with  its  three  service  stripes.  He 
tilted  the  little  overseas  cap  which  Lily  wore  to  a 
rakish  angle  between  the  mascot's  horns. 

With  Lily  clicking  along  at  the  Wildcat's  heels, 
the  pair  entered  the  portals  of  the  Grand  Central 
Station. 

The  Wildcat  accosted  a  Red  Cap  of  his  own  col 
our.  "Whah  at  kin  I  find  de  Backslid  Baptist  whut 
takes  care  o'  de  white  gen'men  on  de  Chicago  Fliah 
'at  leaves  at  2  40?" 

"I  knows  'at  boy  dey  calls  Backslid,  but  dey  ain't 
no  Fliah  leavin'  at  2:40.  'At  boy  runs  Pullman 
on  de  Panama  Limited,  leavin'  heah  at  10:10  to- 


56  LADY   LUCK 

night.     Ol'  Backslid  neveh  shows  up  till  half-past 
nine  to  take  his  cah  out." 

Confronted  by  seven  intervening  hours  of  life  in 
Memphis,  which  might  include  the  release  of  Honey 
|Tone  Boone,  whose  temporary  confinement  in  the 
jail  had  just  been  accomplished,  the  Wildcat's  am 
bition  flopped.  His  sole  desire  for  the  moment  was 
for  a  high-grade  segment  of  camouflage  or  the  sanc 
tuary  of  a  close-fitting  black  cave. 

"Whah  at  kin  me  an'  Lily  hide  out  till  mah  fren' 
Backslid  shows  up?" 

The  Red  Cap  looked  at  him.  "What  you  done 
— outrun  a  bullet  f'm  some  white  man's  gun,  o' 
mebbe  busted  jail?" 

The  Wildcat's  skin  shrank  a  size  or  two  at  the 
mention  of  jail.  "I  ain't  done  nuthin'.  Fo'git 
dem  jail  words.  All  I  got  is  business  in  Chicago, 
an'  I  aims  to  ride  wid  de  Baptist." 

The  Red  Cap  came  to  realize  that  the  Wildcat 
sought  to  avoid  publicity.  "I  knows  a  place  whah 
you  kin  crawl  undah  a  five-dollah  bill  an'  hide." 

"Whah  at's  de  place?" 

"Whah  at's  de  five-dollah  bill?" 

The  Wildcat  produced  the  greenback.  The  Red 
Cap  took  it. 

"Cm  on  heah  wid  me."  He  led  the  Wildcat  and 
Lily  to  the  rooms  where  Red  Caps  shifted  from 
their  civilian  raiment  to  the  uniform  of  their  calling. 


LADYLUCK  57 

"Nobody  but  us  boys  neveh  comes  heah.  Ah'll 
pass  de  word  to  de  Backslid  Baptis'  to  hunt  you  up 
when  he  'rives  f'm  uptown  tonight." 

Until  nine  o'clock  that  night  the  Wildcat  and 
Lily  lay  under  cover.  Shortly  after  nine  o'clock 
the  Backslid  Baptist  arrived  at  the  station  to  board 
his  Pullman,  which  would  be  cut  into  the  Panama 
Limited. 

He  encountered  the  Wildcat  in  the  latter's  retreat. 

"How  come*?  When  Ah  seed  you  dis  aftehnoon 
you  an'  Lily  wuz  in  de  parade-leadin'  business,  fol- 
lowin'  Honey  Tone  Boone  on  de  mule." 

"Us  changed  since  den,  Backslid.  OP  Honey 
Tone  done  unconsecrate  hisself  f'm  de  parade-leadin' 
mule." 

"Whah  at  is  he  now?" 

"Safe  in  jail,  whah  at  Cuspido'  Lee  an'  de  otheh 
wild  woman  kain't  claim  de  remains.  Whut  time 
does  us  leave?" 

"How  come  de  'us'?" 

"I  craves  to  furlough  mahself  loose  f'm  Memphis 
fo'  a  while.  Does  ol'  Honey  Tone  git  free  mcbbe 
he  uprises  agin'  me." 

"Cm  on.  ...  Us  is  due  out  at  10:10." 

Before  the  Backslid  Baptist  was  into  his  uniform 
a  boy  brought  an  order  slip  to  him.  He  read  it  and 
handed  it  to  the  Wildcat. 

The  Wildcat  looked  at  the  paper. 


58  LADY   LUCK 

"You  knows  Ah  kain't  read,  Backslid.  What  'at 
paper  say?" 

"Ah  switches  to  a  N'O'leans  cah — de  Mazeppa. 
Otheh  boy's  sick." 

"How  come  he   sick?" 

"Some  boys  gits  sick  so  as  to  miss  Ol'  Man 
Trouble.  Might  have  made  a  cleanin'  wid  de 
bones.  Might  crave  to  meet  up  wid  some  fren's  in 
Memphis.  Kain't  say  how  come.  Us  finishes  de 
boy's  run.  Come  on !" 

The  Backslid  Baptist  led  the  way  to  the  platform 
in  the  long  train  shed.  "Don't  know  kin  I  dead 
head  'at  goat." 

"Sho'  kin,  Baptist.  'At  mascot  don't  take  up  no 
room.  'At  goat  traveled  f'm  N'Yawk  to  San  F'm- 
cisco  in  de  vegetable  bin  on  a  dinin'  cah.  Lily 
ain't  no  rampager." 

When  the  Panama  Limited  roared  into  the  train 
shed  Lily  cringed  against  the  Wildcat's  legs. 
"Stan'  up  theh!  How  come  you  scared  at  de  ol' 
train?" 

Followed  by  the  Wildcat  and  Lily,  the  Backslid 
Baptist  sought  his  car.  "Whah  at's  de  Mazeppa?" 
he  asked  the  first  porter  whom  he  encountered. 

"Hello,  Backslid.     Is  you  runnin'  Mazeppa?" 

"Aims  to." 

"Menagerie  cah." 

"How  come?" 


LADYLUCK  59 

"Dogdest  cahload  ob  folks  Ah  evah  see.  Wait 
till  mawnin'  an'  you  sees  yo'  passengers.  'At's  de 
ol'  battleship,  five  cahs  back." 

The  Wildcat  and  Lily,  in  the  wake  of  the  Back 
slid  Baptist,  presently  boarded  the  Mazeppa. 

Once  inside  the  car,  the  porter  sniffed  heavily. 
"Gin  trip.     Thank  de  Lawd  ain't  no  kids.     Don't 
smell  no  bananas.     Lis'sen.     Heah  dat  boy  snore?" 
"Snores  lak  he's  chokin'  to  death." 
"Ain't  chokin'.     'At's  a  fat  boy  wid  de  alcohol 
snorts." 

The  Backslid  Baptist  sniffed  again.     "Sho'  is." 
"Is  what?" 

"Chorus  girl  lady,  o'  mebbe  one  ob  dem  movin' 
picture  ladies." 

"Ah'll  say  you  does." 
"Does  what?" 

"Sees  an'  heahs  wid  yo'  nose.  Did  anybody  bust 
you  in  de  beak  dey'd  knock  you  deaf  an'  blind." 

"Wilecat,  Ah  run  Pullman  ten  yeahs — boy  sho* 
gits  deprived  ob  a  lot  ob  ignorance  in  dat  time. 
Sho'  gits  so  he  knows  de  folks  on  his  cah  quick. 
Gits  to  be  a  reg'lah  mind  readeh." 

The  Wildcat  looked  at  the  Backslid  Baptist. 
"Whut  dat  fat  boy  wid  de  alcohol  snorts  thinkin' 
about?" 

The  mind-reading  porter  looked  at  the  Wildcat. 
A  slow  smile  cut  a  red  gash  in  his  face. 


60  LADY,   LUCK 

"Same  as  you — de  half  bottle  whut's  left." 

"Ah'll  say  you's  a  mind  reader.  Read  an'  sec 
does  de  half  bottle  need  a  guardeen." 

"Fo'get  .dat  guardeen,  business.  Tomorrow 
mawin'  he  gives  it  to  you  does  you  crave  it.  'At  boy 
wouldn't  look  cross-eyed  at  you  in.  town,  but  when 
you  weahs  de  unifawm  mos'  likely  does  you  crave 
a  dram  o'  his  liquor  he  be  proud  to  give  it  to  you. 
When  him  an'  de  headache  wakes  up  tomorrow — " 

Zing!  From  above  the  Wildcat's  head  an  elec 
tric  bell  rang  with  the  suddenness  of  a  striking  rattle 
snake. 

"Whut  dat?" 

""Ca'm  yo'sef.  Some  passengeh  ringin'  fo'  de 
porteh.  Store  dat  goat  in  heah  befo'  de  oP  train 
conductor  comes  th'oo." 

The  Backslid  Baptist  opened  the  door  of  the  linen 
closet.  Lily  the  mascot  was  ushered  into  the  dark 
cave  beneath  the  shelves. 

"Lily,  at  res' !  See  kin  you  sleep  whilst  Ah  learns 
de  porter  business."  The  Wildcat  began  to  absorb 
the  free  ice-water. 

Zing!  The  annunciator  rang  again  with  an  im 
patient  note. 

"Put  dis'  white  coat  on  you  whilst  I  sees  who  wants 
whut."  The  Backslid  Baptist  handed  the  Wildcat 
a  white  linen  coat.  The  Wildcat  removed  his  long 
parade-leading  Prince  Albert  with  the  red  plush  sash 


LADYLUCK  61 

and  the  yellow  epaulets  and  donned  the  white  jacket. 

The  Backslid  Baptist  returned  from  the  far 
end  of  the  car.  "Fat  boy  in  Loweh  7  wid  de  alco 
hol  snorts  craves  ice-wateh.  Fill  a  papeh  cup  an' 
carry  it  back  to  him." 

The  Wildcat  filled  a  paper  cup  with  ice-water 
and  started  down  the  aisle  of  the  car.  He  re 
turned  presently. 

"Kain't  find  whah  at  is  'at  boy." 

"You  looks  till  you  sees  '7'  on  de  curtains. 
'At's  whah  he  is." 

The  Wildcat  essayed  a  second  attempt  with  his 
life-saving  ice-water.  He  had  proceeded  half  the 
length  of  the  car  when,  above  the  muffled  rattles 
and  creaks  of  its  fabric,  there  lifted  a  wild  shriek 
ing  laughter. 

The  paper  cup  in  the  Wildcat's  clutching  hand 
was  crushed  flat.  From  the  cup  there  gushed  a 
geyser  of  ice-water  straight  for  the  parted  curtains 
of  Lower  7. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  wild  laughter  from  somewhere  across 
the  aisle  continued,  but  now  it  was  punctu 
ated  by  three  voices. 

"Pr  Gawd's  sake,  dearie,  be  quiet!" 

"Spluff!     What  th'  hell— " 

"Lady  Luck,  whah  at  is  you*?" 

The  Wildcat  galloped  back  along  the  swaying 
aisle  to  the  protection  of  the  Backslid  Baptist. 

The  high-pitched  laughter  pursued  him. 

"Pull  de  stoppin'  string,  Baptis'!  Ah  craves  to 
git  off  dis  train." 

"Ca'm  yo'se'f .     Whut  ails  you  V ' 

"Heah  dat  laffin"?     Heah  dat  crazy—" 

Zing!     Zing!     ZING! 

"Doggone  'at  Loweh  7.  Did  you  wateh  dat 
boy?" 

The  Wildcat  looked  at  the  crushed  cup  in  his  hand. 
"Ah'll  say  so.  Missed  'at  boy's  neck,  but  de  o? 
ice-wateh  sho'  baptized  him." 

"See  whut  he  wants  again." 

"You  betteh  see,  Baptis'.     I's  just  learnin'." 

"Dearie,  be  quiet  before  I  wring  your  neck!"     A 

62 


LADY   LUCK  63 

strident  feminine  voice  addressed  the  author  of  the 
laughter.     "Shut   up!     There,   there,   dearie.  .  .  a 
Oh,  you  feen,  leggo!     My  gawd,  he  bit  me!" 
"Purty  purty  burd.     Purty  purty  burd." 
"You  feen!" 
"Quawk!" 

Down  the  length  of  the  car,  from  between  the 
berth  curtains  there  began  to  appear  an  assortment 
of  human  heads. 

Above  the  scene  there  sounded  the  flutter  of  beat 
ing  wings. 

The  Backslid  Baptist  dived  into  the  centre  of  the 
Pullman. 

"What  is  it,  porter?" 

"Jes5  gittin'  into  Carbondale."  The  porter's  calm 
voice  dispelled  the  terrors  of  the  night. 

"Leggo!  Leggo!  Doggone  you.  Backslid! 
Comeheah!" 

A  furore  of  acrobatic  groaning  marked  a  scene 
wherein  the  Wildcat  was  doing  the  best  he  could  to 
pry  himself  loose  from  something  that  clung  to 
various  parts  of  his  anatomy  with  a  beak  and  eight 
sharp  claws. 

"Come  heah!  Light  de  light.  Some  varmint's 
got  me." 

The  Backslid  Baptist  retraced  his  steps.  "Ain't 
no  varmint.  One  ob  dem  parrot  birds." 

The  Backslid  Baptist  made  a  grab  for  the  parrot, 


64  LADY   LUCK 

and  from  the  bird's  throat  into  the  night  again  there 
lifted  the  wild  laughter. 

The  porter  opened  the  door  of  the  linen  closet 
wherein  Lily  the  mascot  goat  was  quietly  eating  her 
third  pillow  case.  He  cast  the  parrot  from  him  into 
the  darkness  of  the  linen  closet.  "Wilecat,  tell  de 
lady  in  Lo'  10  Ah'll  take  keer  de  parrot  till  mawinV 

The  parrot  landed  on  Lily's  neck.  From  behind 
the  slammed  door  came  a  muffled  "Blaa !"  followed 
by  the  subdued  noises  of  a  large  number-nine-sized 
ruckus. 

Zing!     Zing!     ZING! 

"I's  coming.  I's  coming."  The  Backslid  Bap 
tist  filled  two  cups  of  ice-water  and  started  to 
ward  Lower  7  with  them. 

"Heah  you  is.  ...  Yessuh.  No  suh.  Yessuh, 
Ah'll  git  you  some  mo'." 

"Here's  a  half  bottle  of  that  blasted  stuff.  Take 
it  away  where  I  can't  smell  it.  That  ice-water  sure 
is  good.  Were  you  ever  zippo  on  gin?" 

"No  suh.     Ah'll  git  you  some  mo'   ice-water." 

The  Backslid  Baptist,  conveying  half  a  bottle  of 
gin,  neglected  to  state  that  he  had  never  been  able  to 
accumulate  enough  gin  at  one  time  to  get  himself 
zippo. 

He  encountered  the  Wildcat  in  the  smoking  room. 
He  handed  the  Wildcat  the  half  bottle  of  gin. 
"Ah'll  say  I's  a  mind  reader," 


LADY   LUCK  65 

"See  whut  de  good  Lawd  done  sent !" 

"Afteh  de  storm  comes  de  quiet  waters." 

"Comes  de  gin,  you  means.  OP  fat  boy  drink  de 
watehs.  Us  drinks  de  gin.  Gin,  how  is  you?" 

The  Wildcat  soothed  himself  with  three  strenuous 
gulps.  "Whuf !  Liquor,  how  de  do!" 

The  Backslid  Baptist  departed  with  the  third 
cargo  of  ice-water  for  the  gentleman  in  Lower  7. 
He  returned  after  a  little  while.  Dangling  from  his 
fingers  and  carried  in  his  arms  were  a  dozen  pairs  of 
shoes. 

He  threw  the  shoes  down  on  the  end  seat  in  the 
smoking  room.  "Start  to  work  on  de  shoes,  Wilecat,, 
Don'  do  nothin1  to  de  new  shoes — much — an'  hit  de 
ol*  ones  light.  De  middle-grade  shoes  gits  a  good 
shinin'.  Folks  whut  weahs  middle-grade  shoes  is 
ol'-time  travellers  an'  gin' ally  comes  up  strong  wid 
de  income  tax  fo'  us  boys." 

The  bell  in  .the  passageway  sounded  its  summons, 

"Doggone !     See  who  dat  is." 

The  apprenticed  Wildcat  read  the  indicator. 
"Ain't  no  numbeh.  De  little  hand  turned  on  de 
letters." 

"Whut  de  letters  say*?" 

"Backslid,  you  knows  I  kain't  read." 

The  Backslid  Baptist  set  the  nearly  empty  bottle 
of  gin  on  the  washstand  and  walked  into  the  passage 
way. 


66  LADY   LUCK 

"  'Partment  B,"  he  announced  upon  his  return. 
"Dey's  two  'partments,  A  and  B,  and  a  drawin' 
room.  You  knows  'B'  when  you  sees  it.  Knock 
at  de  do'  an'  ask  whut  is  it." 

The  Wildcat  departed  on  his  mission.  At  the 
door  of  Compartment  B  he  encountered  a  bald- 
headed  gentleman  clad  in  violent  pink  pajamas. 
The  gentleman's  face  was  festooned  with  a  long, 
blond  mustache.  He  thrust  a  coat,  a  vest,  and  a 
pair  of  trousers  through  the  door  at  the  Wildcat. 

"Have  these  pressed,"  he  ordered.  "Here's  a 
brace  of  shillings  for  you.  Fee  the  tailor  chap." 

"Cap'n,  yessuh." 

The  Wildcat  returned  to  the  smoking  room. 
"Boy  in  de  'partment  room  whut  gobbles  lak  a  turkey 
says,  'Press  de  clo'es,  boy,  an'  heah's  a  dollah.' 
Dollah,  how  is  you?  Sho'  is  easy  money." 

"English  boy.  Dey's  de  clo'es-pressin'est  folks  in 
de  world,  'ceptin'  actors." 

"Whah  at  does  I  git  dese  fixed  up*?" 

"No  place.  Hang  de  coat  up.  Sprinkle  de  pants 
wid  wateh  an'  lay  'em  undeh  a  pile  ob  sheets  in  de 
linen  closet.  By  mornin'  dey's  pressed.  You 
charges  anotheh  dollah." 

"Sho'  is  easy  money."  The  Wildcat  hung  the 
Britisher's  coat  and  vest  in  the  smoking  room.  He 
walked  into  the  passageway  and  opened  the  door  of 
the  linen  closet  A  four-legged  cyclone  burst  from 


LADY   LUCK  67 

the  dark  depths  of  the  linen  closet.  Riding  the 
cyclone  was  a  bedraggled  parrot.  The  parrot 
showed  the  wear  and  tear  of  travel. 

The  Wildcat  called  loudly  at  the  cyclone. 

"Lily,  halt!  'Tenshun!  Whah  at's  de  mil'tary 
bearin'  you  got  in  France1?  Come  heah!" 

The  mascot  walked  to  the  Wildcat's  side.  From 
Lily's  cringing  back  the  Wildcat  lifted  the  battle- 
scarred  parrot. 

The  Wildcat  boosted  Lily  back  into  the  solitude 
of  the  linen  closet.  "Lily,  'tenshun.  At  ease! 
At  res' !  " 

The  goat  executed  the  commands  with  the  military 
precision  which  had  come  from  long  months  of  train 
ing  in  the  A.  E.  F. 

"  'Tenshun !  At  ease.  One  mo'  false  move  an* 
I  th'ows  you  oveh-boa'd  off  de  train." 

The  Wildcat  retrieved  a  piece  of  string  and  turned 
his  attention  to  the  parrot.  "You  green  debbil. 
Lay  off  'at  goat.  Ah  ties  you  on  de  top  shelf.  One 
mo'  move  an'  us  has  fricasseed  green  chicken  afteh 
de  dinin'  cah  man  gits  you." 

"  'Tenshun !"  mocked  the  parrot.  "At  ease !" 
Lily,  prone  in  the  depths  of  the  linen  closet, 
obeyed  the  commands. 

The  Wildcat  tied  the  string  around  the  parrot's 
leg.  "Dere,  dat  holds  you,  an  quit  mockin'  me  befo* 
I  knocks  yo'  beak  down  yo'  throat." 


68  LADY   LUCK 

"At  rest!"  the  parrot  gurgled. 

The  Wildcat  closed  the  door  of  the  linen  closet. 
The  parrot  lost  no  time  in  biting  the  string  loose 
from  about  her  leg,  after  which  she  rejoined  her  four- 
legged  companion. 

"'Tenshun!"  she  squawked.  "At  res'!  'Ten- 
shun!  At  res'!" 

Thereafter  until  dawn,  obeying  the  perfect  coun 
terfeit  of  her  master's  voice,  Lily  the  mascot  goat 
came  to  attention  and  subsided  at  rest  with  the  per 
sistent  rhythm  of  a  man  on  a  hand-car. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  Wildcat  returned  to  his  shoe-shining. 
"When  does  us  boys  sleep,  Backslid?" 
"When  de  chance  comes,"  the  Backslid 
Baptist  returned.  "You  sleeps  between  stations  an' 
'twixt  jobs  of  work.  Gin'ally  when  de  bell  rings 
at  night  you  pay  no  'tenshun  to  it.  Folks  is  finicky. 
Dey  gits  along  just  de  same  does  you  answer  de  bell 
or  don't  you.  Hurry  up  wid  de  shoes.  When  you 
gits  'em  done  come  on  up  th'ee  cahs  ahead.  Dey's 
some  res' less  ivory  on  dat  cah,  an'  mebbe  us  collects 
some  money  whut's  lonesome  to  change  managers." 

The  Backslid  Baptist  departed  for  the  third  car 
ahead,  where  in  the  smoking  room  the  galloping 
ivory  was  clicking  strong  on  the  linoleum. 

The  Wildcat  finished  his  work  on  the  shoes  of  the 
passengers  on  the  Mazeppa.  He  carried  the  shoes 
forward  with  him  until  he  came  upon  the  crap  game. 

"Heah's  de  shoes,  Backslid,"  he  said.  "Men, 
howdy." 

"Whut  fo'  you  bring  dem  shoes  all  de  way  up 
heah?" 

"Ah  kain't  read  yo'  numbehs  whah  at  to  distribute 
'em." 

69 


70  LADY   LUCK 

"Lay  'em  down.  Ah'll  take  'em  back  afteh  while. 
Gimme  dem  bones.  Shoots  five  dollahs."  The 
Backslid  Baptist  launched  himself  into  an  energetic 
arm-swinging  struggle,  wherein  presently  he  lost 
after  his  third  pass. 

"Take  a  ra'r,  Wilecat.  See  is  you  still  'fested 
wid  luck  like  you  wuz  in  de  A.  E.  F." 

The  Wildcat  was  a  stranger  to  everybody  present 
except  the  Backslid  Baptist. 

"Who  dat  boy?"  one  of  the  group  of  porters 
asked. 

"Learnin'  boy  f'm  Memphis.  Ah  knows  him." 
With  this  endorsement  the  Wildcat  was  plunged  in 
to  the  game. 

"Gimme  dem  bones.  Hind  laigs  at  res'.'"  The 
Wildcat  subsided  to  the  floor.  "Fingehs,  lemme 
see  kin  you  play  de  pickpocket  jazz.  Shoots  five 
dollahs.  Wham!  Ah  reads  a  feeble  five.  Five 
stay  alive.  Five  Ah  craves.  Lady  Luck,  boon  me. 
P'odigal  five,  come  home  whah  de  fat  calf  waits. 
Bam!  Th'ee  an'  a  deuce.  Ah  lets  it  lay.  Shoots 
ten  dollahs.  Shower  down  ten  dollahs  an'  see  de 
train  robbeh  perform.  Shower  down,  brothers. 
Bam!  Seven!  'At's  twins,  but  man  luck  comes 
triple.  Shoots  de  twenty.  Shoots  twenty  dollahs. 
Heah  de  bloodhoun'  bay.  An'  Ah  reads  ten  miles. 
Chicago  bound !  Pay  day,  whah  at  is  you  ?  Lady 
Luck,  don'  git  feeble.  Angil  leanin'  on  a  cloud. 


LADYLUCK  71 

De  cloud  busts !  Angil,  heah  you  is — readin'  de  five 
an'  five.  Five  twins,  how  is  you?  Shoots  fo'ty 
dollahs." 

One  of  the  group  spoke  to  the  Backslid.  "Mebbe 
'at  boy's  learnin'  de  porter  business,  but  he  sho'  got 
old  in  de  bone  school  a  long  time  back." 

The  Backslid  Baptist  grunted  his  reply. 

The  Wildcat  raked  down  all  of  his  winnings 
except  a  five-dollar  bill.  "Shoots  five  dollahs. 
Shower  down.  Windy  talk  don't  shake  no  possums 
loose.  Come  an'  git  me  on  de  top  limb.  Shoots 
five  dollahs.  Dynamite  dice,  bust  de  ol'  safe  do'. 
Ah  craves  action.  Shoots  ten  dollahs.  Fifty 
dollahs." 

"How  much  you  got*?"  A  cinnamon-coloured 
Croesus  in  the  group  spoke  softly  into  the  clamour. 

The  Wildcat  turned  to  him.  "Shoots  a  hund'ed 
does  you  crave  speed.  Shoots  five  hund'ed 
dollahs." 

The  cinnamon-faced  porter  produced  a  roll  of  bills 
and  stripped  a  handful  of  greenbacks  therefrom. 

"  'At's  five  hund'ed  dollahs.     Roll  'em." 

"Gallopers,  git  right." 

The  Wildcat  gave  the  dice  a  Turkish  bath,  a 
manicure,  and  a  careful  massaging  between  the 
perspiring  palms  of  his  hands. 

He  cast  a  handful  of  prepared  ivory  from  him. 
The  dice  were  festooned  with  equal  parts  of  luck 


72  LADY   LUCK 

and  technical  skill,  but  their  precise  trajectory  was 
interrupted  by  a  string  of  high  joints  and  low  centres 
in  the  track  over  which  rambled  the  Panama  Limited. 

"An*  I  reads — ace  and  deuce." 

The  cinnamon-coloured  boy  picked  up  the  money 
on  the  floor. 

"  'At'll  learn  you." 

The  Wildcat  was  silent.  The  Backslid  Baptist, 
sharing  the  shadow  of  his  associate's  sudden  cloud  of 
black  luck,  spoke  slowly  to  him. 

"C'm  on  heah,  Wilecat.  Us  is  nex'  do'  to  bein' 
busted." 

In  the  wake  of  the  Backslid  Baptist  the  Wildcat 
ambled  back  through  the  swaying  cars  to  the 
Mazeppa.  He  carried  on  his  bowed  shoulders  a 
load  of  misery  big  enough  to  bust  a  bottle  of  dy 
namite  gin. 

The  Backslid-  Baptist  stretched  himself  full  length 
on  the  long  leather  seat  of  the  smoking  room. 

"Baptist,  how  come  it  I  don'  know.  De  baby 
gallopehs  wuz  spinnin'  fo'  seven." 

"Rough  track  an'  de  rocky  road  swerved  'em.  Git 
to  sleep.  Us  is  due  at  Champaign  at  8 : 10.  Money 
come,  money  go.  Whuteveh  sleep  you  gits  is  that 
much  to  de  good." 

The  Wildcat  flopped  down  on  the  floor  of  the 
smoking  room,  but  sleep  would  not  come  to  him. 

At  half  past  seven  the  Backslid  Baptist  on  the 


LADY   LUCK  73 

leather  seat  began  mumbling  to  himself,  .  A  little 
later  he  awakened. 

"Wilecat,  whut  dat  noise?" 

"Ain't  heard  no  noise."  All  the  Wildcat  had 
heard  was  the  accents  of  his  bank-roll  bidding  him 
a  last  farewell. 

"'At  thumpin'  noise."  The  Backslid  Baptist's 
ears,  keenly  attuned  to  the  turmoil  of  travel,  dis 
tinguished  in  the  sounds  about  him  some  unfamiliar 
puncture  of  the  normal  din. 

"Sounded  lak  beatin'  a  board  wid  a  stick." 

"Kain't  heah  nothin'." 

The  Backslid  Baptist  yawned.  "Some  ob  dem 
early  risers  f'm  de  tall  sticks  sure  to  be  up  by  now. 
When  Ah  starts  makin'  up  de  berths  you  kin  sweep 
out  de  cah  an'  'cumulate  de  sheets  an'  pillow  cases. 
Stick  'em  in  de  canvas  bag  in  de  linen  closet  an'  take 
back  de  boy's  clo'es  he  gin  you  to  press." 

The  Wildcat  traversed  the  length  of  the  aisle  back 
of  a  swinging  broom.  'On  the  return  trip  he  en 
countered  the  Backslid  Baptist  busily  engaged  in 
making  up  Lower  i. 

"Backslid,  who  dem  two  boys  half  way  down  de 
cah  wid  de  red  hats'?" 

"You  means  de  boys  wid  de  red  fezants?  Dem's 
a  couple  ob  Potent  Nobles  ob  de  Mysterious  Mecca. 
All  de  Mysterious  Mecca  boys  in  de  world  is  havin* 
a  gran'  ruckus  next  month  on  de  Pacific  Coast." 


74  LADY   LUCK 

"How  come  dey  start  so  early*?" 

"Dey  falls  by  de  wayside  heah  an'  dere,  an'  dey 
starts  early  so  as  to  git  picked  up  by  some  worthy 
Brother  wid  steady  laigs.  'At  fat  boy  wid  de  red 
fezant  is  de  one  whut  had  de  gin  hiccoughs." 

"Kain't  see  did  he." 

"Gin' ally  dey  carries  it  noble.  Dere's  de  little 
lady  whut  owns  de  parrot  bird." 

The  owner  of  the  parrot  bird  was  a  left-over  sou- 
brette  who  had  bust  in  Havana  with  a  road  produc 
tion  of  The  Sillies  of  1492.  The  little  lady  had 
completed  her  spring  drinking  and  was  now  en 
route  to  a  big-time  meal-ticket  scheduled  to  start 
from  Chicago. 

She  saw  the  Wildcat. 

"Porter,  where  is  little  Polly6?" 

"Yessum.  I  secluded  'at  green  chicken  in  de 
linen  closet.  Does  you  crave  him  now?" 

"Yes.  I  want  to  have  her  with  me  for  breakfast 
— the  poor  lonesome  cferling." 

"Accordin'  to  de  words  'at  varmint  used  last  night, 
he's  too  tough  to  make  much  of  a  brekfus'." 

The  Wildcat  went  to  the  end  of  the  car  and 
opened  the  linen  closet  wherein  he  had  cached  the 
parrot. 

With  the  opening  of  the  door  the  mystery  of  the 
thumping  noise  which  he  and  the  Backslid  Baptist 
had  heard  was  explained.  In  a  low  falsetto  the 


LADYLUCK  75 

parrot  was  repeating  the  two  military  commands 
which  she  had  learned. 

"'Tenshun!     At  res'  !     Tenshun!     At  res'  !" 

Lily,  the  mascot  goat,  was  contributing  the  last 
fragment  of  muscular  energy  to  the  business  of  obey 
ing  orders.  In  response  to  the  parrot's  commands 
the  goat  languidly  flopped  at  rest  on  the  floor  of  the 
linen  closet  and  came  to  her  feet  at  attention. 

"Lawd  Gawd,  Lily !     At  res'  an'  stay  'at  way !" 

Gratitude  rang  in  the  answering  "Blaa"  of  Lily 
the  goat. 

The  Wildcat  reached  for  the  parrot.  "You  green 
debbil!  Whut  you  mean,  exercisin'  mah  mascot 
all  night?" 

"Quawk!"  The  parrot  made  a  vicious  swing  at 
the  Wildcat's  reaching  hand. 

"Leggo,  you  debbil !" 

The  green  parrot,  fuming  in  a  rage  compared  to 
which  nitric  acid  was  a  cream  puff,  was  restored  to 
its  Spring-drinking  owner. 

"Lady,  heah's  de  green  demon." 

"Pretty  Polly.  What  made  her  little  feathers  all 
mussed  up*?" 

The  Wildcat  returned  to  his  exhausted  mascot. 

"  'At  green  chicken's  lucky  does  he  git  by  widout 
gittin'  his  health  an'  stren'th  mussed  up  befo'  dis 
trip  ends.  At  res',  Lily,  till  I  brings  you  some 
nutriment.  Doggone  ol'  bird  must  have  near  wore 


76  LADY   LUCK 

you  out.     'At's  He  way  wid  dem  mil'tary  comman3sa 
Res'  yo'se'f,  Lily,  till  Ah  brings  yo'  brekfust." 

"Blaa!"  answered  Lily,  weakly. 

The  Wildcat  detected  a  tone  of  hypocrisy, — some 
thing  of  false  gratitude — in  the  mascot's  reply.  He 
returned  from  the  dining  car  carrying  two  heads  of 
lettuce  for  the  mascot.  He  placed  the  lettuce  under 
the  nose  of  the  recumbent  goat,  but  Lily  refused  to 
eat. 

"Fust  time  Ah  eveh  seed  you  slow  up  when  de  mess 
call  blowed.  How  come?" 

An  instant  later  his  roving  eye  discovered  the 
"how  come"  of  Lily's  loss  of  appetite.  In  a  dark 
corner  of  the  linen  closet  he  saw  a  dozen  fragments 
of  white  cloth.  He  hauled  them  out,  and  the  light 
revealed  the  hems  of  a  covey  of  sheets  and  a  half 
dozen  pillow  cases.  Then  the  web  of  a  home-spun 
disaster  met  his  eye.  From  the  lower  shelf  of  the 
linen  closet  dangled  the  shredded  legs  of  the  trousers 
which  the  occupant  of  Compartment  B  had  given 
him  to  be  pressed. 

"Goat,  doggone  you,  come  to  'tenshun!  No 
wondeh  you  kain't  eat  lettuce,  wid  yo'  insides 
crammed  wid  a  ton  ob  linen  an'  half  a  pair  ob  pants 
fo'  dessert.  Me  sympathizin'  wid  you,  an*  you  an* 
de  green  chicken  banquetin'  all  night  on  'spensive 
raiment!  'Ceptin'  foh  havin'  to  scrub  de  flo',  I'd 
barbecue  de  blood  outen  yo'  veins  heah  an'  now." 


LADY   LUCK  77 

The  sudden  necessity  of  hiding  the  evidence  con 
fronted  the  Wildcat. 

"By  rights  I  ought  to  ram  de  rest  ob  de  pants 
down  yo'  neck."  The  Wildcat  picked  up  the  ragged 
and  frazzled  trousers.  A  moment  later  he  opened 
the  door  of  the  car  platform  and  cast  the  remnants 
of  Lily's  banquet  into  the  fleeting  right-of-way. 

"  'Spect  some  boy  find  dese  an'  say,  'Whah  at's 
'de  man  whut  de  train  cut  de  laigs  off  of1?'  'At's  his 
trouble.  Me — Ah's  Chicago  bound  wid  a  cahload 
ob  trouble  ob  mah  own.  Main  thing  to  do  is  to  git 
off  de  train  widout  lettin'  'at  boy  in  'partment  B 
know  we's  landed." 

He  discussed  the  disaster  of  the  trousers  with  the 
Backslid  Baptist. 

"  'At's  de  on'y  way,"  the  porter  conceded. 
"When  us  gits  in  we  fo'gits  'bout  de  boy  widout  de 
pants.  Dey  wuz  his  pants,  Wilecat.  Havin'  no 
pants  is  his  grief.  He  kin  borrow  some  overalls  f'm 
de  cah  cleaners,  o'  else  he  kin  play  he's  a  Injun  an' 
roam  nekked  till  de  police  gits  him.  Does  us  meet 
up  wid  de  oP  Pullman  'spector  Ah  says  'No  suh,  Ah 
dunno  how  come.'  'At's  'at." 

"Sho'  don't  crave  words  wid  no  'spector,"  the 
Wildcat  returned.  "Dis  porter  business  de  best  job 
in  de  world.  Ridin'  all  de  time,  seein'  de  country 
— eatin'  heavy,  free  ice  wateh,  gran'  raiment,  talk- 
in'  to  folks — No  suh!  Main  thing  Ah  craves  is 


78  LADY   LUCK 

to  git  hired  by  de  Pullman  boss.     'Spect  Ah  makes 
it  all  right,  Baptis"?" 

"You  makes  it  easy.  You's  clone  learned  de 
business  dis  mawnin',  ain't  you?  Well,  I  gits  you 
five  recommendin'  letters  f'm  a  boy  whut  writes  'em 
on  Prairie  Avenue,  an'  you  gits  hired. 

"Fust  letter  says,  'Ah  knowed  Wilecat  goin'  on 
ten  yeahs,  an'  he  don't  drink.'  Nex'  letter  say, 
'Wilecat  jined  de  church  when  he  wuz  four  yeahs 
old  an'  bin  a  soldier  ob  de  Lawd  eveh  since.'  Nex' 
letter  say,  'Boy  got  to  take  keer  ob  his  wife,  mother 
an'  father,  an'  six  small  chillen.'  Nex'  letter  say, 
'Wilecat  sho'  beats  de  worl'  fo'  readin',  writin',  an' 
'rithmetic.' ' 

"Backslid,  you  knows  Ah  kain't  read." 

"  'At  don't  make  no  difference.  Letter  says  so, 
don't  it"?  Last  letter  says  you's  honest,  industrious, 
an  reli'ble." 

"How  come  you  so  friendly  wid  dat  Democrat- 
letter-writin'  boy*?" 

"How  come  'Democrat'  ?" 

"F'm  whut  you  says  he's  champion  liar  ob  de 
world.  Sounds  Democrat  to  me.  Don'  make  no 
difference,  though — just  so's  I  gits  de  job." 


ZING! 
The  owner  of  the  red  fez  and  the  night- 
blooming  hiccoughs  craved  another  pillow 
and  a  table.      The  Wildcat  delivered  the  table  and 
fixed  it  into  place.     He  returned  to  the  linen  closet 
to  retrieve  a  pillow  case  therefrom.     When  the  door 
opened,  Lily  the  mascot  goat,  tired  of  the  dark  con 
fines  of  her  retreat,  burst  forth  and  galloped  down 
the  aisle  of  the  car. 

The  Wildcat  abandoned  his  pillow  case  industry 
and  spent  the  next  two  minutes  in  rounding  up  his 
protege. 

"You  ramblin'  wreck,  come  back  heah  befo'  Ah 
makes  a  rug  out  ob  yo'  skin." 

He  returned  Lily  to  her  jail  and  proceeded  to 
deliver  the  second  pillow  to  the  owner  of  the  alcohol 
snorts.  In  common  with  the  rest  of  the  occupants 
of  the  car,  that  individual  voiced  his  curiosity  con 
cerning  the  animated  mascot. 

"Son,  who  owns  the  goat?" 

"Cap'n,  suh,  Ah  owns  him  now,  but  some  slaugh 
ter  house  man  gwine  to  git  him  'less  he  ca'ms  down." 

"What'll  you  take  for  him?" 

79 


8o  LADY   LUCK 

The  Wildcat  suddenly  remembered  his  financial 
status.  Hard  money  at  the  moment  made  a  strong 
appeal. 

"Cap'n,  suh,  you  means  you  craves  to  buy  'at 
goat?" 

In  the  mind  of  the  Potent  Noble  of  the  Mysterious 
Mecca  had  bloomed  a  Great  Idea,  wherein  the  gallop 
ing  Lily  would  provide  entertainment  in  carload  lots 
for  the  Convention-bound  brethren  of  the  Conclave. 

"Some  days  Ah'd  sell  'at  goat  fo'  a  thin  dime. 
Otheh  days  Ah'd  give  a  boy  a  hund'ed  dollahs  for 
killin'  him." 

"What'll  you  take  for  him  cash  down,  f.  o.  b. 
Lower  7,  car  Mazeppa*?" 

The  Wildcat  studied  for  a  moment,  and  then  long 
months  of  association  clinched  the  tie  which  Lady 
Luck  had  woven  between  him  and  the  prodigal  Lily. 

"Cap'n,  suh,  Ah  spec'  Ah  wouldn't  sell  'at  goat 
fo'  mo'n  a  million  dollahs.  Me  an'  Lily  fit  so  many 
battles  togetheh  in  France  and  on  boa'd  de  ol'  iron 
boat  comin'  home  'at  Ah  kain't  see  no  money  big 
enough  to  Tsuage  mah  grief  is  we  divo'ced.  Bible 
says,  'Whither  the  goat  goes,  me  too.'  'Spec  Ah 
kain't  sell  him." 

The  companion  Noble  across  the  table  from  the 
hiccoughing  gentleman  offered  a  suggestion.  "Round 
'em  both  up  for  the  trip.  The  Pullman  gang'll  fix 
it  for  us." 


LADYLUCK  81 

"Good  scheme,  Jim.     The  old  bean  isn't  any  too 
clear  this  morning  or  I'd  thought  of  that  myself." 
The  owner  .of  the  red  f  ezant  turned  to  the  Wildcat. 
"What's  your  name,  son1?" 

"Dey  named  me  Marsden,  suh — Vitus  Marsden 
— but  folks  calls  me  Wilecat." 

"If  I  can't  buy  the  goat,  I  guess  we'll  have  to 
negotiate  the  custody  of  your  feline  corpus  from  the 
Pullman  organization  for  the  duration  of  the  Big 
Show." 

'"Yessuh."  The  Wildcat  did  not  understand  the 
big  words,  but  whenever  he  did  not  understand  it  was 
his  principle  to  smile  and  agree  to  anything  that 
white  gentlemen  said. 

"Yessuh.  Ain't  it  de  truf  ?"  He  returned  to 
the  smoking  compartment,  where  the  Backslid 
Baptist  was  auditing  his  tips. 

The  Backslid  Baptist  was  busy  at  the  moment 
excavating  a  busted  cork  out  of  the  neck  of  a  queer 
looking  square  bottle. 

"Baptis',  whut  you  got?" 

"Smells  lak  equalizer.  Wait  till  Ah  gits  dis  cork 
out,  an'  us  sees." 

"Whut  dat  sign  say  on  de  bottle?" 

The  Backslid  Baptist  inspected  the  label  affixed 
to  the  flat  side  of  the  bottle.  "Ol'  sign  reads 
'Acrobatic  Spirits  of  Pneumonia.'  Bam!  Un- 
konkered  'de  ol'  cork.  Smell  dat.  'At  learns  you 


82  .LADY    LUCK 

not  to  believe  in  signs.  When  yoj  eyes  sees  one 
thing  an'  yo'  nose  sees  another  you  betteh  believe 
yo'  nose."  He  took  a  long  drag  at  the  bottle  and 
passed  it  over  to  the  Wildcat. 

"Whuf!  OF  lady  in  Lower  6  felt  poo'ly  dis 
mawnin',  but  she  'sorbed  th'ee  drams  f'm  dis  heah 
bottle,  an'  so  far  she's  et  twelve  dollahs'  wuth  ob 
grub  up  ahaid  in  de  dinin'  cah." 

The  Wildcat  swung  on  to  the  "Acrobatic  Spirits 
of  Pneumonia,"  lingering  at  the  spout  for  several 
disappointing  seconds  after  the  contents  of  the  bottle 
had  gurgled  down  his  neck. 

"Whuf !  Ah  missed  de  pneumonia,  Backslid,  but 
Ah  sho'  feels  acrobatic.  How  come  de  lady  lose  de 
bottle?" 

"She  done  got  careless  when  de  spirits  come.  You 
better  th'o  'at  glassware  away  now  an'  git  ready  fo' 
tellin'  de  boss  how  you  craves  a  porter's  job." 

Half  an  hour  later,  leading  his  mascot  goat  and 
closely  convoyed  by  the  Backslid  Baptist,  the  Wild 
cat  walked  down  the  platform  in  the  dark  trainshed 
of  the  station  in  Chicago.  Throughout  the  long  ride 
down  .Prairie  Avenue  to  the  habitation  of  the  forger 
from  whom  the  recommending  letters  were  to  be 
obtained  the  Wildcat's  woolly  bean  spun  with  the 
momentum  which  he  had  drained  from  the  bottle 
abandoned  by  the  careless  lady  in  Lower  6. 

An  hour  later,  armed  with  five  ironclad  letters, 


LADYLUCK  83 

he  returned  along  the  route,  arriving  finally  at  the 
portals  of  the  office  building  on  West  Adams  Street 
wherein  Pullman  porters  are  created  from  select 
brunet  humanity. 

Presently,    across    a    wide    desk    he   confronted 
Authority.     A   kindly  gentleman  questioned  him, 
and  to  the  questions  he  replied  with  an  assortment  of 
impromptu  lies  whose  range  and  ingenuity  busted 
every  previous  record  for  careless  language. 
Ten  minutes  later  he  was  a  hired  man. 
"Cm  on  heah.     'At's  all."     The  Backslid  Baptist 
at  his  elbow  sensed  the  successful  conclusion  of  the 
interview. 

"You  mean  Ah's  a  porter*?"  the  bewildered  Wild 
cat  asked  when  the  pair  had  gained  the  street  level. 
"Ah'll  say  you  is." 

"An5  all  de  tips  I  gits  is  mine  to  keep*?" 
"Dey  is  previdin'  you  gits  outen  yo'  trance  an' 
takes  yo'  cah  on  de  4:10." 

"Hot  dam,  Lily !  Cm  on  heah.  Us  weahs  a  blue 
coat  all  de  time  an'  don't  do  nuthin'  but  spend  de 
money  whut  de  white  folks  showers  down." 

"You  betteh  make  arrangements  at  some  livery 
stable  to  p'vide  board  an'  room  fo'  Lily  whilst  you 
is  A.  W.  O.  L." 

"How  come?     Whah  at  I  goes  de  goat  goes." 

"Not  on  de  Pullman  run.     Ah  dead-heads  you 

once,  an'  de  goat  lak  to  ruined  eve'ybody  in  de  cah. 


84  LADY   LUCK 

No  suh !  Kain't  run  no  trains  an'  no  mascot  at  de 
same  time.  De  rule  book  leaves  out  goats,  but  does 
you  lug  Lily  wid  you,  yo'  fust  run  sho'  is  yo'  last." 

The  Wildcat  faced  the  moment  of  a  great  decision. 
"Den  dey  won't  be  no  fust  trip.  C'm  on  heah, 
Lily.  Much  'bliged,  Baptis'.  Me  an'  Lily  looks 
fo'  a  job  whah  at  dey  ain't  no  rules  again'  mascots." 

The  Wildcat  headed  south  along  Michigan 
Avenue,  and  in  a  little  while  he  and  Lily  were  adrift 
in  a  sea  of  humanity. 

The  Backslid  Baptist  grunted  his  disgust  and 
went  about  his  own  affairs. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

AT  midnight  the  Wildcat  and  Lily  pitched) 
their  lonely  camp  behind  a  billboard  in 
South  Chicago. 

"Sho'  craves  mah  rations.  .You  done  noble  wid 
de  grass,  Lily,  but  Ah  kain't  eat  grass.  Seems  lak 
you  kin  nutrify  yo'se'f  wid  whuteveh  vittles  is  lay 
ing  'round." 

In  the  dawn  the  Wildcat  realized  that  his  appetite 
had  sprung  up  like  a  mushroom  over  night. 

"Wisht  us  wuz  back  wid  oF  Cap'n  Jack  in 
Memphis,  whah  at  de  ham-tree  blooms  th'ee  times 
a  day." 

At  noon  his  stomach  was  the  residence  of  a  hunger 
panic.  With  his  mascot  trailing  behind  him,  he 
headed  toward  the  heart  of  the  city. 

"Doggone  'at  crap-shootin'  hound.  How  come  he 
clean  me  to  mah  last  nickel,  Ah  don'  know.  Lady 
Luck,  whah  at  is  you?" 

An  instant  later,  wearing  a  policeman's  uniform 
and  speaking  a  wild  Irish  language,  Lady  Luck 
descended  upon  the  Wildcat.  The  Michigan  Av 
enue  traffic  cop  abandoned  his  post  long  enough  to 
pounce  upon  his  prey. 

8s 


86  LADY   LUCK 

"What  th'  hell  do  yez  mean  prowlin'  round  th' 
Loop  in  broad  daylight  wid  ivery  man  on  th'  force 
goin'  crazy  lookin'  f'r  yez*?  Come  along  wid  me." 
Ten  minutes  later,  with  the  echoes  of  the  patrol 
gong  still  ringing  in  his  ears,  the  Wildcat  and  Lily 
were  hazed  through  the  black  portals  of  an  un 
friendly  looking  police  station.  They  faced  the 
desk  sergeant. 

"Boy,  is  your  name  Vitus  Marsden?" 
"Cap'n,  yessuh.     Folks  gin' ally  calls  me  Wile- 
cat." 

The  desk  sergeant  busied  himself  with  the  tele 
phone  at  his  elbow.  Two  minutes  later  he  turned 
to  the  Wildcat. 

"Sit  on  that  bench  over  there/'  he  said. 
The  Wildcat  sat  down,  and  a  black  cloud  of  sur 
mise  floated  across  his  immediate  horizon. 

"Lily,  Ah  'spect  us  is  'rested  mebbe  on  'count  ob 
dem  pants  you  et  offen  de  man  in  old  'partment  B. 
Mebbe  I'se  took  fo'  'sorbin'  dem  Acrobatic  Spirits 
whut  Backslid  consecrated  to  me.  Mebbe  de  lady 
wid  de  green  chicken  whut  you  et  de  feathers  off  ob 
done  craved  revenge.  Mebbe  de  ol'  Pullman  car 
man  aims  to  make  you  work  out  de  price  of  'at 
laundry  you  et  in  de  linen  closet." 

The  Wildcat  had  no  difficulty  finding  a  dozen 
good  reasons  for  his  present  embarrassment.  He 
addressed  a  police  officer  near  by. 


LADYLUCK  87 

"Cap'n  suh,  whut  fo'  is  me  an'  Lily  sequestered 
heah  hide  jail?" 

Before  the  policeman  could  answer,  the  march  of 
events  made  reply.  Through  the  swinging  doors  of 
the  station  filed  a  dozen  strange  looking  men. 
These  men  wore  baggy  red  trousers,  and  on  each 
man's  head  was  the  red  fez  which  marked  him  as 
being  a  Potent  Noble  of  the  Mysterious  Mecca. 

They  descended  upon  the  Wildcat.  "Come  on 
here,  boy.  Bring  that  goat.  You  and  the  mascot 
are  due  out  on  our  special  train  twenty  minutes  from 
now.  Here's  your  orders  from  the  Pullman  Com 
pany.  You're  on  the  payroll,  and  so  is  the  mascot 
goat." 

"Cap'n,  suh,  you  means  me  an'  Lily  is  headed  west 
wid  de  red  fezant  gen'men*?" 

"That's  it." 

"Hot  dam!  Lily,  'tenshun!  Lady  Luck,  how 
come  I  doubt  you*?" 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  Wildcat  expanded  in  the  sunlight  of 
Lady  Luck's  smile. 
"Lady  Luck,  how  come  I  doubt  you"? 
Police  folks,  good-bye.     Lily,  'tenshun!     Come  on 
heah.     Us  is  a  Pullman  poteh.     Ah  craves  mah  rest. 
Le's  go." 

Surrounded  by  an  escort  of  Potent  Nobles  of  the 
Mysterious  Mecca,  the  Wildcat  marched  from  the 
portals  of  the  Chicago  police  station,  headed  for  a 
west-bound  train  wherein  he  aimed  to  do  the  best  he 
could  in  the  role  of  porter  for  his  carload  of  nobles. 

At  the  train  gates  the  party  was  delayed  five  min 
utes  to  permit  the  entrance  of  a  motley  crew  of  man 
acled  aliens. 

"How  come  them  boys  festooned  with  so  much 
jinglin'  hardware?" 

One  of  the  Potent  Nobles  made  reply. 

"Bad  actors." 

"Cap'n,  suh,  who's  dat  black  boy  wid  de  straight 
hair  and  his  head  tied  up  in  de  white  rag?" 

"Hindoo." 

"Some  boy  sho'  must  ob  busted  his  head  open,  to 
need  tyin'  up  so  bad." 


LADY   LUCK  89 

Following  the  line  of  undesirables  headed  away 
from  the  land  of  the  free,  Lily,  the  Wildcat,  and  the 
Potent  Nobles  filtered  through  the  gates  into  the 
train  shed.  They  made  their  way  down  a  long 
string  of  coaches,  arriving  finally  at  the  Mazeppa. 

"Here's  the  car." 

"Car,  howdy.     Lily,  git  aboa'd." 

"Slip  out  and  get  me  a  box  of  cigars  before  we 
leave." 

A  Potent  Noble  shoved  a  banknote  at  the  Wildcat. 

"Cap'n,  yessuh.  Would  you  mind  tyin'  Lily  on 
de  front  vegetable  ob  de  car  till  I  gits  back?" 

Twelve  minutes  later,  carrying  in  his  hand  a  box 
of  cigars,  the  Wildcat's  second  entrance  was  blocked 
by  a  ticket  chopper  who  had  a  square  jaw  and  a  sense 
of  duty. 

"Where's  your  ticket?" 

"Ain't  got  no  ticket.  I's  de  poteh  wid  de  Mys 
terious  Mecca  gen'men.  Le'  me  by." 

"Don't  try  to  pull  none  o'  that  stuff  around  me." 

"Man,  leave  me  by !" 

Armed  with  the  conviction  of  authority  and  clad 
in  a  parade-leading  Prince  Albert  whose  brass 
buttons  reassured  him,  the  Wildcat  violated  one  of 
the  first  principles  of  his  life,  which  was  never  to 
oppose  a  white  man.  He  slid  past  the  ticket 
chopper,  ducked  into  the  gate,  and  boarded  the 
train  wherein  rolled  the  Mazeppa.  He  caught  a 


90  LADY   LUCK 

tourist  Pullman  three  cars  apart  from  the  rolling 
residence  of  the  Mysterious  Mecca  delegation  and 
landed  breathless  in  the  open  vestibule. 

"Fust  thing  old  Backslid,  what  learned  me  de 
po'teh  bizness,  said  to  do  was  to  close  up  de 
vegetable." 

This  he  proceeded  to  do.  He  turned  and  entered 
the  car.  For  a  second  time  he  slid  past  blue-coated 
authority,  in  the  form  of  a  United  States  Deputy 
Marshal  who  was  temporarily  chaperoning  the  de 
parting  aliens. 

"Hold  on,  there:     where  you  headed  for1?" 

"Fs  de  poteh  what  takes  care  ob  de  Noble 
Fezant  boys  in  de  blue  pants." 

The  deputy  marshal  temporarily  on  guard  had  a 
fixed  official  rule  of  conduct:  never  take  a  chance. 
The  Wildcat's  words  sounded  crazy  enough  to 
entitle  him  to  a  membership  card  in  the  Traveling 
Nut  Club. 

"Git  in  that  car  and  sit  down  before  I  blow  your 
head  off!  Where's  your  handcuffs'?" 

"Cap'n,  how  come'?  Handcuffs  seems  so  con 
fidential." 

Here,  for  some  reason  unknown  to  the  Wildcat, 
was  the  hand  of  the  law.  Inside  of  his  parade-lead 
ing  Prince  Albert  the  Wildcat  shivered  and  shrunk 
three  sizes.  His  brow  wrinkled  in  perplexity 


LADYLUCK  91 

beneath  the  velvet  hat,  and  the  bright  yellow  plumes 
thereon  dropped  in  sudden  melancholy. 

"Lady  Luck,  whah  at  is  you1?" 

"Mumblin'  to  himself  and  wearing  the  craziest 
rig  in  the  car — good  thing  I  rounded  up  that  bird." 

The  deputy  marshal  added  another  star  to  his 
crown.  "Plumb  bughouse." 

He  cast  his  eye  over  the  occupants  of  the  car. 
"Back  to  Russia.  Try  some  of  your  ideas  on  them 
Bullshevik  birds." 

He  again  addressed  the  Wildcat. 

"Cut  out  that  mumblin'.  All  you  got  to  do  is 
keep  still." 

"Cap'n,  yessuh."  The  Wildcat  removed  his 
velvet  hat  and  subsided  in  a  seat  beside  the  Hindoo 
agitator. 

"How  come  you  got  your  head  all  tied  up,  boy*?" 
he  asked  the  Hindoo. 

The  Anarchist  didn't  see  fit  to  reply. 

At  Omaha  the  guards  from  the  western  division 
relieved  their  homesick  eastern  brothers. 

"Twenty-three  of  them,"  announced  the  man  who 
had  captured  the  Wildcat.  "Watch  that  rag-head 
Hindoo  and  that  nigger  in  the  fourth  seat.  He's 
gittin'  bad,  all  the  time  mumblin'  to  himself  about 
Lady  Luck  and  Lily;  he  believes  he's  a  porter." 

Over  the  miles  official  carelessness  rode  in  the 


92  LADY   LUCK 

carload  of  bad  actors.     Only  when  the  train  stopped 
were  the  guards  vigilant. 

Sagged  down  in  his  seat  beside  the  Hindoo,  the 
Wildcat  reviewed  a  tolerably  measly  past. 

"How  come?" 

There  was  no  accounting  for  what  white  men 
would  do  to  a  boy,  but  somewhere  in  the  jumble  the 
Wildcat  sensed  that  he  had  been  the  victim  of  a 
mistake. 

"Mebbe  I's  headed  fo'  jail  'count  o'  runnin* 
past  de  man  at  de  gates." 

After  a  thirty-minute  delay  at  Granger  the  Wild 
cat  saw  a  train  leave  the  yards.  On  the  platform 
of  the  observation  car,  surrounded  by  half  a  dozen 
Blue  Fezant  Nobles  of  the  Mysterious  Mecca,  he 
saw  Lily  speeding  away  into  an  isolated  future. 

"Lily,  you  hoodoo,  good-bye.  Lady  Luck,  here 
I  is." 


I 


CHAPTER  X 


N  the  early  days  of  detachable  cuffs  and  ten-cent 
whisky  there  had  been  a  difference  of  opinion 
manifest  in  the  railroad  surveying  party  at 
Granger. 

Part  of  the  gang  headed  northward  to  the  salmon 
country;  the  rest  of  them  blazed  a  trail  to  the  south 
west,  where  the  sand  fleas  live  on  artichokes. 

Lily  and  her  escort  were  headed  southwest  towards 
San  Francisco.  Presently  the  Wildcat's  car  was 
cut  into  a  train  whose  trail  led  northward  through 
Idaho  and  Oregon. 

Lady  Luck  meanwhile  had  a  hard  time  keeping 
up.  Exhausted  finally  with  her  efforts,  she  set  the 
stage  a  few  hundred  miles  ahead  and  lay  down  and 
went  to  sleep.  While  she  was  sleeping  a  pair  of 
hard  boiled  actors  in  the  drama  rummaged  around 
in  the  woodshed  back  of  a  log  house  near  the  banks 
of  the  Columbia  river. 

'Pete,  a  skinny  character  with  ears  like  a  loving 
cup,  raked  three  wheat  sacks  out  of  a  pile  of  lumber. 

Into  two  of  these  sacks  he  cut  a  pair  of  holes  two 

93 


94  LADY   LUCK 

inches  in  diameter  and  about  four  inches  apart. 
The  third  sack  he  left  intact.  He  handed  one  of 
the  sacks  to  his  partner. 

"Here  she  is;  see  if  it  fits  you." 

A  fat  bad  actor  by  the  name  of  Bill  slipped  the 
sack  over  his  head.  "Little  narrow  between  the 
eyes." 

Three  hours  later  these  two  agents  of  Lady  Luck 
engaged  in  a  little  hard  work  in  their  search  for  easy 
money.  The  product  of  their  energy  took  shape  in 
the  form  of  a  pyramid  of  old  ties  piled  between  the 
rails  of  the  line  over  which  the  Wildcat  was  ap 
proaching  in  his  twelve-wheeled  cage. 

Ten  minutes  before  the  train  was  due  and  while 
her  crossing  whistles  could  be  heard  in  the  dusk  five 
miles  up-stream,  the  two  bad  actors  scrambled  up 
the  south  bank  of  the  Columbia.  The  skinny  one 
poured  a  quart  bottle  of  coal  oil  on  the  pile  of  ties 
and  lighted  it.  The  fat  man  lighted  a  cigarette. 

Both  of  them  drew  the  wheat  sacks  over  their 
heads.  The  fat  man  carried  the  third  wheat  sack 
slung  at  his  waist  on  a  string  which  went  around  his 
shoulder. 

The  stillness  of  evening  was  broken  by  the  roar 
of  a  locomotive  whistle,  and  an  instant  later  the 
wheels  of  the  train  smoked  and  screeched  against  the 
chattering  brake  shoes.  In  the  cab  ahead  the  handle 
of  the  air  valve  was  slammed  into  the  big  notch. 


LADYLUCK  95 

The  flagman  swung  down  from  the  rear  end  of  the 
train  and  ambled  back  along  the  track  for  half  the 
regulation  distance.  He  set  his  lantern  in  the 
middle  of  the  track  and  rolled  a  cigarette.  Three 
lanterns  flashed  along  the  train,  where  the  train 
conductor  and  two  brakemen  made  their  way  ahead 
to  see  what  was  going  on. 

Presently  they  found  out  and  took  their  places 
beside  the  fireman  and  engineer,  hands  raised. 

With  his  wheat  sack  dangling  more  heavily  on 
his  hip  as  he  progressed  through  the  train,  the  fat 
bad  actor  skimmed  the  Pullman  cream  on  his  way 
forward  to  the  plated  jewelry  in  the  day  coach. 

On  the  vestibule  of  the  Wildcat's  car  he  en 
countered  a  locked  door.  Inside  the  car,  on  a  seat 
beside  the  rag-head  Hindoo,  the  Wildcat  curled  .him 
self  up  as  a  preface  to  twelve  long  chapters  of  easy 
sleep. 

"Sho's  noble  when  de  train  stops;  boy  can  sleep 
peaceful  'thout  gittin'  his  insides  scrambled." 

"Bam!" 

The  fat  bad  actor  shot  the  lock  off  the  door  of  the 
Wildcat's  car. 

"Boy  sure  can  sleep  noble.     Good  mawnin — " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  action  and  not  words. 
On  the  echo  of  the  shot  from  the  fat  bad  actor's  gun 
the  Wildcat  leaped  automatically.  He  ran  fast 
enough  to  sidestep  two  more  shots  that  crashed  into 


96  LADY   LUCK 

the  night  after  him.  The  Hindoo  passed  him  in 
the  darkness. 

Down  along  the  track  the  Wildcat's  feet  tore  up 
great  gobs  of  right-of-way.  He  passed  the  flagman, 
going  like  a  brunet  typhoon  ten  days  overdue. 
After  the  first  mile  he  began  putting  his  feet  down 
a  little  slower  before  he  stepped  on  them.  At  the 
second  mile  his  hind  legs  were  dragging,  and  then 
suddenly,  instead  of  the  hard  ground  beneath  his 
feet,  there  was  nothing  but  a  black  void. 

He  rolled  a  few  times  like  a  'possum  falling  off 
a  limb.  He  landed  on  the  hard  sand  of  the  river 
bank.  Night  had  fallen. 

"Lady  Luck,  here  us  is.     Whah  at  is  we*?" 

The  Wildcat  curled  up  and  went  to  sleep. 

He  woke  up  five  minutes  later.  "Sho5  is  peace 
ful.  How  come  I's  so  thirsty*?" 

Beside  him  the  river  offered  him  a  solution  to  his 
thirst  problems.  On  all  fours  he  crawled  to  the 
river  edge.  He  shoved  his  bow  under  the  water  and 
nearly  sank  himself  absorbing  as  much  of  the 
Columbia  river  as  could  flow  into  his  wide  mouth. 

"Whuff !     Sho'  is  noble  water." 

The  black  rippling  water  before  him  was  suddenly 
shot  with  silver.  Then  it  became  a  solid  glistening 
black.  A  school  of  smelt,  seeking  the  quiet  water 
of  the  bank,  fought  their  way  upstream.  The  Wild- 


LADY   LUCK  97 

cat  reached  a  tentative  exploring  paw  into  the 
stream  of  fish. 

"Fish,  howdy.  De  table  sho'  is  set.  Come  out 
heah." 

With  his  bare  hands  he  snatched  ashore  a  breakfast 
four  sizes  too  big  for  his  optimistic  estimate  of  his 
stomach's  capacity. 

"Quit  floppin'.  Ole  Wilecat's  done  caught  you." 
He  felt  for  the  box  of  Pullman  matches  in  the  pocket 
of  his  shirt,  beneath  *he  folds  of  the  parade-leading 
Prince  Albert.  Here  was  food  and  a  chance  to 
sleep.  With  the  Wildcat,  all  was  well. 

He  accumulated  a  pile  of  firewood  from  the  river 
bank,  and  presently  a  great  fire  was  blazing.  For 
an  hour  he  gorged  himself  on  smelt. 

"Whuff!  Sho's  noble  fish..  Now  I  sees  kin  I 
sleep  me." 

The  twinkling  stars  rattled  in  their  orbits  in 
cadence  to  the  Wildcat's  snores.  Sufficient  unto  the 
night  was  the  evil  thereof.  Here,  except  for  a  few 
sand  fleas,  was  peace.  The  Wildcat  snuggled  deeper 
into  the  intimate  environment  of  the  sand  about 
him.  His  lower  jaw  dropped,  and  his  tongue  lolled 
out  less  than  a  foot.  Three  or  four  mosquitoes 
landed  on  him  and  did  a  little  boring,  but  the  Wild 
cat  slept  on.  Presently  the  halo  of  fish  about  him 
quit  flopping.  In  the  dark  waters  of  the  river's 


98  LADY    LUCK 

margin  their  myriad  brethren  fought  their  way  up 
stream.     The  Wildcat  mumbled  in  his  sleep, 

"Lady  Luck  sure  done  noble. 
I  sleeps  mos'  all  de  time. 
I  don'  give  a  dog-gone 
If  de  sun  don't  nevah  shine." 

2. 

In  the  Cascades  there  had  been  berries  enough  for 
the  bears  and  for  the  Indians.  Now  that  the  salmon 
run  was  heralded  in  the  Columbia  by  the  little  fish 
scouts,  all  of  the  scattered  members  of  the  Flathead 
tribe  not  otherwise  engaged  coagulated  from  their 
several  loafing  grounds  and  headed  for  Memloose 
Island  to  pay  their  annual  respects  to  the  ghost  of 
the  King  Salmon. 

Included  in  the  tribe  were  a  few  solid  citizens. 
Some  of  these  were  college  graduates.  John  Run 
ning  Bear,  better  known  to  the  business  men  of  The 
Dalles  as  John  Franklin,  left  his  tailored  clothes  at 
home  and  painted  his  brown  body  with  yellow  ochre. 
He  stained  his  arms  and  face  with  the  tribal  marks 
of  his  people.  He  drove  in  his  twelve-cylinder  car 
to  a  point  near  the  upstream  tip  of  Memloose  Island, 
whereon  the  Flathead  salmon  dance  was  to  be  held. 
He  parked  his  car  in  a  thicket  of  willows. 

"Safe  enough,"  he  said  to  his  companion.  "If 
some  bundle-stiff  or  some  drifter  from  a  sheep  camp 


LADY   LUCK  99 

up  the  line  needs  the  old  wagon  more  than  I  do,  he's 
welcome  to  it.  Let's  go." 

At  dawn  Running  Bear  and  his  companions  en 
countered  a  hundred  of  their  fellows.  From  the 
camp  the  smoke  of  the  cooking  fires  lifted  in  the  still 
air.  Running  Bear  opened  a  tin  of  chicken.  He 
sighed. 

"This  is  the  last  civilized  meal  for  the  next  six 
days." 

He  breakfasted  slowly,  lingering  over  his  coffee, 
and  then  half  reluctantly  the  last  trace  of  civili 
zation's  veneer  was  cast  aside. 

"Clee  Hy  Yah  Skookum  Kum  chuck.     Waugh !" 

3- 

Half  a  mile  upstream  from  the  Indian  camp  the 
Wildcat  greeted  the  dawn.  Building  a  quick  fire, 
he  looked  about  him  at  the  wrinkled  little  fish, 
drying  in  the  early  morning  sunlight.  Slithering 
past  him  in  the  water  still  persisted  the  mad  rush  of 
racing  myriads.  He  threw  the  dead  fish  back  into 
the  stream  and  raked  out  a  fresher  breakfast. 

He  poulticed  a  dozen  fish  with  maple  leaves  and 
threw  them  in  the  glowing  coals  of  his  fire.  Ten 
minutes  later  he  again  began  the  business  of  gorging 
himself  on  free  fish. 

"Don't  cost  me  nuthin'."     He  clawed  the  water 


ioo  LADY   LUCK 

for  another  dozen  handfuls.     "Free  fish,  howdy  doo., 

"I  eats  when  I  can  git  it. 
I  sleeps  mos'  all  de  time." 

Gorged  to  the  bursting  point,  the  Wildcat  rolled 
over  in  the  warm  sunlight.  He  preferred  not  to 
go  to  sleep  again,  but  in  five  minutes  he  was  snoring 
along  at  his  old  sixty-mile  gait.  He  slept  all  day. 

He  was  discovered  and  surrounded  at  evening  by 
Running  Bear  and  the  rest  of  the  tribe. 

Running  Bear  sized  up  the  situation  and  pulled 
off  a  pow-wow  with  three  or  four  of  his  companions. 
They  arrived  at  a  verdict. 

"A  little  black-face  vaudeville  might  liven  things 
up.  These  blasted  tribal  ceremonies  need  a  cabaret 
attachment  to  jazz  them  up.  How  about  it,  red 
skins'?" 

"Let's  go." 

The  verdict  was  unanimous. 

Somewhere  in  the  Wildcat's  dreams  there  pres 
ently  developed  a  rhythm  in  which  the  cadence  of 
dancing  feet  punctuated  his  slumbers.  His  eyes 
opened  finally,  and  within  the  range  of  his  vision 
passed  a  parade  of  leaping  figures.  To  his  ears 
came  the  regular  booming  beat  of  a  deerskin  tom 
tom,  punctuated  by  an  occasional  blood-curdling 
yell. 

His  memory  failed  him. 


LADY   LUCK  101 

"How  come  dis  voodoo  bizness*?" 

He  sat  up.  He  got  to  his  feet  and  instinctively 
crouched  to  a  running  position. 

The  ring  of  dancing  warriors  about  him  tightened1 
up. 

"Lady  Luck,  whah  is  you*?" 

Running  Bear  lifted  a  flint-tipped  spear  over  his 
head  and  emitted  a  shriek  compared  to  which  the 
Rebel  yell  was  a  chirp  from  the  weakened  lungs  of 
the  dove  of  peace. 

In  spite  of  his  fish-distended  anatomy,  the  Wild 
cat  shrivelled  to  boy's  size. 

Running  Bear  emitted  several  mouthfuls  of  lan 
guage. 

"Naw  suh,  not  me."  The  Wildcat  denied 
everything.  "I  ain't  only  a  field  han'.  Lemme 
by,  boy.  Whah  at's  yo'  pants?  How  come  you 
runnin'  around  nekked4?" 

"Waugh!" 

Six  Indians  seized  the  Wildcat,  and  a  moment 
later  he  was  seated  in  the  stern  of  a  twenty-foot 
skiff,  which  presently  embarked  upon  the  surface  of 
the  Columbia.  Beside  the  Wildcat  sat  Running 
Bear,  speaking  a  fluent  mixture  of  Flathead  and 
Chinook. 

In  time  with  Running  Bear's  measured  periods, 
the  Wildcat  rolled  his  eyes.  Now  and  then  when 
the  Indian's  sense  of  humour  got  the  best  of  him  he 


102  LADYLUCK 

varied  his  Chinook  jargon  with  'wild  shrieks  of 
laughter. 

"Sounds  like  dem  crazy  folks  in  dat  car  comin' 
from  Chicago.  Seems  like  de  whole  worl'  done  got 
crowded  wid  fools.  What  you  laffin'  at,  boy1?" 

In  a  little  while  the  party  landed  at  Memloose 
Island.  Before  them,  rising  sharply  against  the 
evening  sky,  drooping  cottonwoods  lifted  high  above 
an  undergrowth  of  willows.  The  party  marched 
down  a  little  trail  for  half  the  length  of  the  island, 
and  then,  at  a  point  where  the  trail  divided  into  the 
sombre  interior  of  the  wooded  terrain,  they  left  the 
sunlight. 

After  a  march  of  a  hundred  yards  they  came  upon 
a  clearing.  About  the  clearing  in  the  fringing 
woods  were  fifty  rickety  structures  lifted  on  poles. 
On  each  of  these,  with  its  grinning  skull  lying  to 
wards  the  east,  lay  a  skeleton. 

The  Wildcat  began  to  sweat.  He  counted  a 
dozen  skeletons  and  added  a  few  dozen  prayers  to 
his  perspiration.  In  .a  green  alcove  opening  from 
the  wider  clearing  seven  skeletons  stood  erect  in  a 
ring  about  a  flat  stone. 

His  captors  carried  the  Wildcat  to  this  stone  and 
held  him.  A  little  apart  from  him  Running  Bear 
opened  the  services  with  a  yell  which  echoed  like 
a  chorus  from  the  inferno. 

The  Wildcat  gave  up  hope. 


LADY   LUCK  103 

"They  sho'  got  me.  What  dey  is  I  don'  know. 
Lemme  go,  boys." 

The  smoke  from  a  dozen  fires  lifted  in  the  clear 
ing.  Staggering  in  from  half  a  dozen  paths  came 
as  many  painted  warriors,  each  bearing  on  his  back 
a  salmon  nearly  as  long  as  its  red-skinned  carrier. 

Running  Bear  abandoned  the  vernacular  for  a 
moment  and  dropped  into  English. 

"The  Gods  of  the  waters  have  sent  the  salmon. 
The  black  man  can  feast  with  his  red  brothers." 

"Them  words  sure  sounds  noble.  How  come  you 
pester  me  talkin'  voodoo  talk?" 

"After  the  feast  the  fires  of  sacrifice  will  be 
lighted.  It  is  written  that  one  of  our  number 
shall  be  burned  at  the  stake." 

To  the  Wildcat's  ears  this  sounded  homelike,  but 
not  reassuring. 

"Lemme  go!     Lemme  go!" 

He  leaped  from  the  rock  and  plunged  through  the 
fringing  skeletons.  Running  Bear  and  a  dozen  of 
his  companions  loped  along  after  the  Wildcat.  The 
galloping  party  covered  the  length  of  the  island. 
Running  Bear  and  his  companions  deployed  in  open 
order,  to  permit  the  Wildcat  to  double  on  his  trail ; 
but  that  panic-stricken  individual  had  fixed  his 
course,  and  he  sailed  true  to  it. 

He  headed  for  a  twenty-foot  bank,  and  his  racing 
legs  did  not  stop  until  the  swirling  waters  of 


104  LADY   LUCK 

the    Columbia    had    closed    heavily    over    them. 

Running  Bear,  who  had  followed  as  swiftly  as  his 
civilized  muscles  would  permit,  gazed  anxiously  at 
the  swimming  Wildcat  for  a  moment,  to  reassure 
himself  of  his  victim' s«safety. 

"Go  to  it,"  he  commented.  "You'll  make  the 
mile  in  nothing  flat  with  that  panic  crawl."  He 
watched  the  Wildcat  until  the  current  swept  him 
around  the  bend  downstream. 

"He's   safe,"   Running  Bear  commented.     "On 
with  the  dance." 
He  resumed  the  redskin  role  of  a  distant  yesterday. 

"Waugh!" 

4- 

In  the  gathering  dusk  the  Wildcat  swam  and 
floated  for  a  mile  downstream  in  the  currents  of  the 
Columbia;  then  under  the  insistent  drag  of  a  wide- 
swinging  eddy  he  headed  for  the  leading  fences  of 
a  great  salmon  wheel  whose  plunging  buckets  dived 
into  the  black  currents  and  lifted  with  their  gamble 
of  fifty-pound  salmon.  Now  and  then  a  heavier 
fish  would  punctuate  the  monotony  of  the  catch. 

Flopping  among  their  more  substantial  compan 
ions  a  fleet  of  leaping  steel  heads  added  splashes  of 
silver  to  the  Chinook  background. 

The  swimming  Wildcat  saw  above  him  the  de- 


LADY   LUCK  105 

scending  framework  of  the  fish  wheel.  He  tried 
vainly  to  escape  from  the  cage  of  wire  netting  fall 
ing  from  the  sky  upon  him,  but  he  was  captured  like 
a  moth  lost  in  a  butterfly  net. 

"Lady  Luck,  good-bye." 

The  Wildcat  dragged  in  a  deep  lungful  of  air  as 
he  went  under.  Five  seconds  later,  preceded  by 
three  heavy-set  salmon,  he  slithered  down  a  trough 
into  the  storage  bin  in  the  hull  of  the  fish  wheel. 
About  him  were  plunging  fish.  He  looked  at  the 
square  of  evening  light  which  glimmered  through 
the  hatch. 

"WhahatisI?' 

A  fifty-pound  salmon,  sliding  down  the  trough, 
struck  fairly  against  the  Wildcat's  stomach. 

"Fish,  how  come1?" 

Another  leaping  salmon  slapped  the  Wildcat  with 
his  tail. 

"Don't  kick  me  wid  yo'  tail.  I'll  bust  you  in  de 
haid." 

The  Wildcat  struck  wildly  at  the  offending 
salmon.  He  slipped  and  fell  into  a  vast  fighting 
mass  of  lively  fish.  He  wrestled  with  fins  and  tails. 

He  called  loudly  for  Captain  Jack  and  for  Lady 
Luck.  Once  he  thought  his  call  was  answered,  but 
for  half  an  hour  the  Wildcat  led  an  unstable  slippery 
life.  He  sought  a  bed  of  inert  fish,  only  to  awaken 
five  or  six  gasping  demons  who  flopped  upon  him 


io6  LADY    LUCK 

heavily.     He  reached  in  vain  for  the  hatch  coaming 
five  feet  above  him. 

Half  erect  and  with  the  deck  timbers  almost  in 
his  grasp,  time  and  again  his  feet  slipped  from  the 
back  of  a  wriggling  salmon. 

"Dog-gone  you,  stand  still;  get  pacified."  He 
hauled  off  and  slammed  a  kick  at  a  salmon  which 
had  tripped  him. 

'Til  bust  you  in  de  belly." 

He  landed  with  his  equator  submerged  by  nine 
nervous  fish.  He  sought  to  embrace  a  giant  salmon. 
The  Chinook  slapped  at  him  with  his  tail. 

"Don'  kick  me  wid  yo'  tail.  I'll  bust  you  in 
de  nose." 

He  swung  wildly  at  the  salmon  and  was  com 
pletely  submerged.  He  came  snorting  to  the  surface 
of  the  mass. 

"Whuff!  Fish,  git  ca'm.  Does  yo'  lay  still  I 
does." 

5- 

On  deck  near  the  hatch  coaming  in  the  early  night 
Mr.  Ogaloff  Skooglund,  the  proprietor  of  the  fish 
wheel,  massaged  his  front  teeth  with  Copenhagen 
snuff  and  figured  his  winnings. 

"If  de  salmon  fisk  been  running  like  dis  tree  day 
more  Aye  cleans  oop  sax  t'ousand  doller." 

An  echo  from  some  unseen  source  seemed  to  reply. 


LADY   LUCK  107 

Mr.  Skooglund  called  loudly  to  the  echo  and  then 
decided  that  he  was  crazy,  for  the  call  was  repeated 
from  the  river  bank. 

The  proprietor  of  the  fish  wheel  yelled  a  greeting 
into  the  darkness. 

Down  the  bank  into  the  circle  of  light  cast  by  a 
dim  lantern  came  a  fat  man  and  a  skinny  individual 
with  ears  like  a  loving  cup. 

The  fat  man  carried  a  wheat  sack  whose  heavy 
contents  jingled  when  he  sat  it  on  the  deck  of  the 
fish  wheel. 

The  pair  were  out  of  breath.  The  owner  of  the 
fish  wheel  stepped  forward  to  try  his  English  on 
his  nocturnal  visitors. 

"Hello,  fellers,"  he  said. 

The  fat  man  answered,  "Evenin'." 

The  skinny  man  tightened  up  on  his  ears  for  an 
instant  and  swung  at  Mr.  Skooglund  with  a  short 
club. 

"Good  evening,"  he  said,  accenting  the  blow. 
The  Swede  took  the  count  with  a  grunt. 

The  fat  man  and  the  skinny  one  picked  up  Mr. 
Skooglund  and  carried  him  to  the  open  hatch.  Feet 
first  they  dropped  him  upon  the  slithering  mass  of 
salmon  five  feet  below. 

"He  might  drown.  What  did  you  hit  him  so 
hard  for?' 

"No  chance.     He  ain't  hurt — he'll  sleep  two  or 


io8  LADY   LUCK 

three  hours.  I  only  hit  him  light..  You  can't  kill 
these  fish  fighters  hittin'  'em  in  the  head,  anyway. 
Ivory — who's  that?" 

The  fish  wheel  was  being  boarded  by  another 
visitor. 

"Talk  fish.  You  an'  me  owns  the  boat.  We 
ain't  seen  nobody."  The  skinny  man  whispered 
quickly  to  his  companion.  "Kick  that  sack  in  the 
hold." 

The  wheat  sack  with  its  clinking  contents  was 
cast  into  the  open  hatch. 

The  Wildcat  made  another  futile  leap  at  the  hatch 
coaming,  just  in  time  to  catch  the  impact  of  the 
wheat  sack  and  its  jingling  contents. 

"How  come?" 

Then  he  twisted  away  from  there  and  groaned  a 
groan  in  which  rumbled  the  anguished  accents  of 
horror.  In  the  dim  light  he  saw  Mr.  Skooglund's 
face  festooned  completely  by  floundering  salmon. 
Fear  froze  him. 

"Salmon  wid  a  man's  face.     I  sho'  is  crazy." 

Then  to  his  ears  from  the  deck  of  the  fish  wheel 
came  the  diverting  tones  of  a  voice  which  he  had 
heard  before.  "The  fat  bad  actor !" 

"The  fat  bad  actor!" 

He  listened  for  a  moment  to  reassure  himself,  and 
then  the  motive  of  revenge  was  added  to  the  other 
sources  of  inspiration  which  tensed  the  muscles  of 


LADY   LUCK  109 

his  legs.  He  leaped  once  more  for  the  hatch  coam 
ing.  This  time  he  grabbed  it.  Silently  he  swung 
himself  to  the  deck  of  the  boat.  Panting  with  his 
efforts,  he  lay  quiet  in  the  darkness. 

In  the  dim  lantern  light  he  saw  three  figures. 
The  fat  bad  actor  was  speaking.     "Naw,   sir. 
Sheriff,  we  ain't  seen  nobody.     We  just  bought  this 
here  wheel  from  the  fellow  that  owned  it  yesterday. 
What  did  you  say  them  train  robbers  looked  like*?" 
The  Wildcat  snaked  himself  forward  toward  the 
fat  bad  actor.    On  the  way  his  hand  encountered  the 
blade  of  an  oaken  oar.     Thereafter  for  the  next 
twenty  feet  he  trailed  the  oar  after  him.     He  came 
within  range  and  above  the  head  of  the  fat  bad  actor 
lifted  the  heavy  handle  of  the  oar. 
"Bam!" 

On  the  instant  the  Sheriff  leaped  for  the  shadows.; 
Out  of  the  darkness  came  his  voice. 
"Don't  move !     Nobody !" 

"Cap'n,  I  don'  crave  to  move,  an'  de  fat  boy 
kain't,  any  more  dan  de  dead  man  in  de  cellar." 

The  Sheriff's  voice  came  out  of  the  night  clear  as 
the  cold  stars.  "Cut  a  piece  of  that  rope  and  tie 
this  man's  hands." 

The  Wildcat  was  a  little  slow  about  tying  a  white 
man's  hands,  but  he  glanced  at  the  blue-nosed 
equalizer  dimly  outlined  in  the  Sheriff's  steady  hand 
and  accelerated  his  gestures. 


no  LADY    LUCK 

"Tie  up  that  other  man  layin'  on  the  deck.  Tie 
them  two  men  together." 

"Cap'n,  yessuh.  How  'bout  de  dead  boy  layin' 
in  de  boat  cellar?" 

The  Sheriff,  fearing  a  ruse,  hesitated  for  only  a 
moment. 

"Drop  a  rope  down  there  and  crawl  down  where 
he  is.  Tie  it  under  his  arms  and  then  come  back 
and  haul  him  up." 

"Fs  skeered  to  touch  dat  boy;  feared  he  come 
back  and  follow  me." 

The  Sheriff  swung  the  gun  at  the  Wildcat. 

"Hurry  up,  before  I  spatter  a  hole  through  you." 

"Cap'n,  yessuh."  The  Wildcat  made  a  line  fast 
and  threw  the  end  of  it  into  the  hull  of  the  fish 
wheel.  He  retrieved  Mr.  Skooglund  from  his  en 
vironment  of  flopping  salmon  and  tied  the  line 
under  the  arms  of  the  inert  man.  He  scrambled 
back  on  deck  and  hauled  the  Swede  after  him. 

"Get  a  bucket  of  water  and  throw  it  on  him." 

Under  this  ungentle  treatment  the  victim 
presently  opened  his  eyes.  He  reached  an  unsteady 
hand  to  his  head  and  inspected  a  knob  thereon  the 
size  of  an  egg. 

"Yust  ven  I  hear  de  little  angels  iss  singing,  de 
earthquake  troo  de  church  down  on  me." 

His  vision  encountered  the  Sheriff  and  the  Wild 
cat. 


LADY   LUCK  111 

"Was  any  salmon  saved?'* 

The  Sheriff  reassured  him. 

"You  had  a  wallop  on  the  head.  You're  all 
right  now."  He  abandoned  Mr.  Skooglund  for  a 
moment  and  turned  to  the  Wildcat. 

"Where's  the  dividend?" 

"Cap'n,  how  come?" 

"Come  through  with  the  clean  up.  You  got 
enough  watches  and  rings  from  them  passengers  to 
sink  this  craft." 

"Mebbe  it's  de  bag." 

Convoyed  by  the  swinging  muzzle  of  the  Sheriff's 
gun,  the  Wildcat  dived,  again  into  the  open  hatch 
and  returned  presently  with  the  jingling  wheat  sack 
swung  about  his  shoulders. 

The  Sheriff  inspected  the  contents. 

"That's  it." 

He  turned  to  the  Swede. 

"You  able  to  walk?" 

It  seemed  that  Mr.  Skooglund  could  navigate  on 
his  hind  legs.  The  fat  bad  actor  still  lay  uncon 
scious  on  the  deck.  The  Wildcat  had  done  a  good 
job  with  the  oar,  and  it  took  six  buckets  of  water  to 
bring  the  fat  man  out  of  his  slumbers.  The 
quartette  preceded  the  Sheriff  down  the  narrow  gang 
plank  to  the  bank.  They  made  their  way  a  mile 
upstream  and  came  upon  the  Sheriff's  horse,  hitched 
fast  to  a  cottonwood  on  the  river  bank.  The 


112  LADY   LUCK 

Sheriff  fired  his  revolver  three  times  in  the  air. 
Half  an  hour  later  he  yelled  loudly,  and  an  answer 
ing  call  came  from  the  distance  through  the  night. 

"That's  the  rest  of  the  gang." 

The  party  was  joined  presently  by  half  a  dozen 
riders.  Two  hours  later  the  Wildcat,  heavily 
ironed,  rode  beside  Mr.  Skooglund  in  the  smoking 
car  of  the  train  headed  for  The  Dalles.  Dawn  was 
breaking  as  the  Sheriff  and  his  companions  marched 
up  the  street  from  the  station. 

Presently,  in  a  cell  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
world,  the  Wildcat  heard  the  clanking  of  the  heavy 
bolts  which  made  the  cell  door  a  barrier., 

"Lady  Luck,  how  come?" 

6. 

Lady  Luck  was  on  the  job.  At  eleven  o'clock 
that  morning  the  fat  bad  actor  confessed,  and  in  his 
confession  the  Wildcat  was  cleared. 

A  Deputy  brought  a  telegram  to  the  Sheriff.  The 
Sheriff  read  it. 

"Thousand  dollars,  hey?  Looks  to  me  like  that 
nigger  deserves  the  reward."  The  Sheriff  was 
honest.  "Fetch  him  in  here." 

The  Wildcat  was  hazed  into  the  Sheriff's  presence. 

"The  railroad  is  paying  a  thousand  dollars  reward 
for  roundin'  up  them  two  men.  Maybe  they'd  got 
loose  if  you  hadn't  nailed  that  one  in  the  head.  I'll 


LADY   LUCK  113 

give  you  a  letter  to  the  Portland  office  and  you  can 
go  down  there  and  get  your  money." 

"Cap'n,  yessubu  Hot  dam!  Fish  always  was 
lucky  with  me." 

Mr.  Skooglund  augmented  the  reward  with  a 
personal  offer. 

"Any  time  you  wanting  a  salmon  fisk  I  give  you 
one  free." 

"Cap'n,  suh,  I  sho'  is  much  obliged,  but  if  I  neveh 
see  a  fish  again,  dat's  twice  too  soon  fo'  me." 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE  Wildcat  felt  noble.     Against  yesterday's 
clouds    tomorrow's    skies    lay    blue.     The 
Sheriff's  office  at  The  Dalles  was  a  com 
fortable  place  wherein  to  wait  for  the  thousand- 
dollar  reward  which  Lady  Luck  had  showered  down 
on  her  prodigal  protege. 

Half  asleep,  the  Wildcat  mumbled  to  a  buzzing 
fly.  "  'At's  it.  Tryin'  to  bust  yo'  brains  out  on  de 
window  glass.  JAt's  how  come  you  ain't  got  none. 
Cravin'  to  git  loose  all  de  time.  S'pose  you  git 
loose1?  Whah  at  would  you  go?  Some  ol'  spidah'd 
git  you  de  fust  mile.  Ca'm  yo'se'f.  Heah  you  is 
in  de  sunshine  an'  all  warmed  up.  You  jess  like 
folks — neveh  knows  when  you's  lucky." 

The  Wildcat's  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  a 
verbal  volley  from  the  Sheriff.  "Here's  your  letter. 
Take  it  down  to  the  railroad  office  in  Portland; 
they'll  pay  you  the  thousand-dollar  reward  for  help 
ing  capture  that  pair  of  train  robbers." 

"Cap'n,  yessuh.  Neveh  seed  so  much  money. 
Sho'  come  easy." 

"Come  easy,  go  easy.     I  suppose  you'll  load  your- 

114 


LADY   LUCK  115 

self  up  on  square-face  gin  and  get  rolled  the  first 
night  you're  in  town." 

"No,  suh,  not  me!  I  aims  to  'vest  mah  money 
in  de  fried  smelt  business.  Right  now  I's  a 
Pullman  porter.  In  Poteland  mebbe  I  sees  kin  I 
buy  myself  free.  Anyway,  I  starts  me  a  smelt  fish 
business.  River's  full  ob  oF  smelt  fish.  I  ketches 
me  a  wagon  load.  I  builds  me  a  fire  in  mah  fish 
wagon,  an'  when  de  fish  is  fried  I  sells  'em  two  bits 
a  pan  to  de  Poteland  niggers.  Neveh  seed  a  nigger 
'at  wouldn't  trade  two  bits  fo'  a  belly  full  o'  fish." 

"Good-bye.  Good  luck  with  your  smelt  fish  en 
terprise."  The  Sheriff  terminated  the  interview. 

The  Wildcat  stowed  his  thousand-dollar-reward 
letter  in  the  inside  pocket  of  the  parade-leading 
Prince  Albert  which  had  seen  temporary  service  as 
a  Pullman  porter's  uniform. 

He  made  his  way  to  the  railroad  station  and  sat 
down  at  a  point  where  a  splash  of  sunlight  dived 
into  a  pool  of  heat  which  radiated  from  the  wall  of 
the  depot.  For  a  little  while  his  neck  muscles  held 
his  head  erect,  and  then,  with  his  drooping  eyelids, 
his  head  fell  forward. 

His  meandering  tongue  offered  an  irresistible  in 
vitation  to  the  mumbling  fly  which  had  escaped 
with  the  Wildcat  from  the  Sheriff's  office.  The 
fly  enjoyed  the  viscous  environment  until  he  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  himself  all  squashed  up  in  an  in- 


ii6  LADY   LUCK 

stinctive  gesture  back  of  which  were  the  clutching 
fingers  of  the  Wildcat's  swinging  hand. 

"Fly,  how  come  you  so  confidential?  'At's  mah 
pussonal  tongue.  On  yo'  way."  The  buzzer  was 
batted  into  oblivion. 

A  moment  later  the  roar  of  an  incoming  train 
sounded  in  the  Wildcat's  ears.  "Fly  sho'  was 
handy.  Sho'  did  me  a  good  turn  wakin'  me  up. 
Mebbe  dey's  got  brains  just  like  folks,  else  how 
come  dey  knows  when  it's  train  time'?" 

He  boarded  the  train  and  settled  down  in  a  seat 
in  the  smoking  car. 

A  Pullman  porter  from  the  twe'lve:wheeled  battle 
ship  on  the  aft  end  of  the  train  came  forward  and 
encountered  the  Wildcat.  "Mawnin',  boy;  whah  at 
you  bound*?" 

"Poteland." 

"You  a  Poteland  boy*?" 

The  Wildcat  indulged  in  a  little  autobiography. 
"Not  me.  I  'filiates  wid  de  Pullman  company  a 
long  time  back,  conveyin'  a  westbound  carload  of 
Potent  Nobles  ob  de  Mystic  Mecca  wid  blue  Fez- 
ants.  Us  got  divo'ced  somewhere.  Dey  an'  mah 
mascot  goat  gits  drug  to  San  Pmcisco.  I  gits 
penned  up  wid  a  rag-head  Hindoo  boy  an'  some 
crazy  folks  in  anotheh  train.  I  jines  me  in  a  ruckus 
wid  train  robbers.  Den  I  busts  loose,  an'  some  In 
dian  boys  starts  in  to  barbecue  me.  I  swims  myself 


LADY    LUCK  117 

free  an'  de  oF  Sheriff  gives  me  a  thousan'  dollahs  fo' 
ketchin'  'em.     Wish  they'd  been  a  dozen." 

"Boy,  I  seed  so  many  liars  I  got  so  I  b'lieves  lies, 
but  yo'  sho'  strains  me." 

The  Wildcat  fished  around  in  his  parade-leading 
Prince  Albert  and  produced  the  evidence.  "Read 
dis  letter.  See  does  I  strain  you." 

The  infidel  read  the  letter.  He  looked  at  the 
Wildcat.  "Is  yo'  name  Vitus  Marsden?" 

The  Wildcat  acknowledged  his  verbal  label. 
"Folks  gin' ally  knows  me  as  Wilecat,  'count  o'  me 
bein'  de  mil'tary  Wilecat  ob  de  Fust  Service  Bat 
talion  in  France  fo'  so  long." 

The  Pullman  porter  extended  his  hand.  "Sho' 
glad  to  meet  up  wid  you,  Mistah  Marsden.  Mah 
name's  Daniels.  Dey  gin'ally  calls  me  Dwindle." 

"Proud  to  meet  you,  Mistah  Daniels.  Did  you 
come  out  ob  de  lion's  den  or  de  Navy*?" 

"Neither  one.     I'se  a  Bummin'ham  Republican." 

The  Wildcat  reached  for  his  letter.  "Gimme 
back  dat  letter.  No  boy  f'm  Alabam'  is  safe  wid 
a  money  letter." 

"How  come?" 

"Wust  cleanin'  I  ever  got  in  a'  cube  ruckus  come 
off  a  Bummin'ham  boy." 

"Money  come,  money  go.  What  you  gonna'  do 
when  you  gits  yo'  thousan'  dollahs?" 

"Fish  business.     I  aims  to  start  me  a  fried  fish 


ii8  LADY   LUCK 

wagon  in  Poteland.  Figgah  out  de  profits.  Heah's 
de  ol*  rivah  dusty  wid  smelt  fish.  Heah's  de  Pote 
land  niggahs  cravin'  to  'sorb  fish  mawnin',  night,  an' 
noon.  I  gits  me  some  fryin'  pans  an'  I  cooks  me  up 
some  fresh  fish  every  day.  Dey  don't  cost  me 
nuthin'.  I  collects  two  bits  a  panful.  'At  runs  in 
to  big  money." 

Dwindle  Daniels  did  some  fast  financial  thinking. 

"How  does  you  aim  to  cook  fish  an'  ketch  'em 

bofe,  wid  de  Columbia  river  six  miles  f'm  Poteland'?' 

The  Wildcat  hadn't  thought  of  this  detail.     He 

made  his  associate  a  proposition. 

"Dwindle,  s'pose  you  'filiates  with  me.  Us 
ketches  de  fust  wagon-load;  den  I  fries  fish  an'  col 
lects  de  money  whilst  you  ketches  mo'  fish." 

"De  fust  day  'at's  all  right.     Second  day  I's 
treasurer." 
"Suits  me." 

For  the  next  twenty  miles  the  two  fish  financiers 
dived  into  the  details  of  their  commercial  venture, 
and  when  the  train  slowed  for  the  bridge  leading 
across  the  Willamette  to  Union  Station  in  Portland 
their  plans  were  completed. 

At  the  street  gates  of  Union  Station  a  policeman 
directed  the  Wildcat  to  the  railroad  offices.  He 
lost  the  trail  and  wandered  around  for  half  an  hour, 
but  finally,  with  the  assistance  of  a  hundred  ques 
tions,  he  made  port. 


LADY   LUCK  119 

An  elevator  boy  directed  him  to  the  treasurer's 
offices,  wherein  presently  he  received  a  slip  of  blue 
paper  in  the  lower  right  hand  corner  of  which  was 
the  treasurer's  signature. 

"Cap'n,  suh,  what's  dat<?" 

"That's  a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars." 

"Dis  papah?" 

The  Wildcat  looked  sideways  at  the  check. 
"Whah  at  does  I  git  de  hard  jinglin'  money?" 

"Any  bank.  Sign  your  name  on  the  back  of  that 
check  and  any  bank  will  cash  it." 

"Cap'n,  suh,  I  ain't  nevah  learned  to  write.  Kin 
you  all  help  me  wid  dis  papah^" 

The  clerk  signed  the  Wildcat's  name  and  under 
neath  the  signature  the  Wildcat  made  his  mark. 

"Stick  here  a  minute  and  I'll  get  the  money  for 
you." 

The  clerk  departed  and  returned  presently  with 
two  thick  packages  of  ten  dollar  bills. 

"Money,  howdy  doo !  'At's  more  cash  den  I  seed 
since  payday  in  Bo'deaux." 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  Wildcat  languished  in 
the  lobby  of  a  ramshackle  hotel  below  Burnside 
Street,  where  he  had  a  meeting  date  with  his  fish 
partner. 

Dwindle  Daniels  at  the  moment  was  meshed  in  the 
net  of  official  business. 

To  pass  the  time  the  Wildcat  got  fraternal  with  a 


120  LADY   LUCK 

languid  brunet  known  as  the  Spindlin'  Spider.  The 
Spider's  loose  anatomy  was  draped  with  a  compli 
cated  checked  suit. 

"Pardner,  whah  at  kin  a  boy  git  a  slug  ob  gin?" 

"Cuba,  mebbe.  Gin  comes  high  'round  heah.  I 
knowed  one  drink  to  cost  a  boy  ninety  days." 

"Ninety  days,  ninety  dollars.  Sometimes  oP 
square  face  gin  sho'  is  worth  it." 

"Does  yo'  crave  licker  ten  dollars'  worth,  some 
times  dey's  a  white  mule  hitched  in  de  back  room." 

The  Wildcat  pulled  off  a  diplomatic  boner.  He 
displayed  his  thousand  dollar  roll  and  peeled  there 
from  a  ten-dollar  bill. 

"Whah  at  kin  I  trade  dis  frog  skin  fo'  a  ra'r  o' 
licker?" 

Internally  the  Spindlin'  Spider  suddenly 
awakened.  He  showed  no  outward  sign  of  the 
agitation  which  the  sight  of  the  money  had  inspired, 
but  for  half  an  hour  he  played  heavy  politics,  and 
thereafter,  in  a  company  of  half  a  dozen  hard-boiled 
crap  shooters,  the  Wildcat  began  to  pay  for  the 
indiscreet  display  of  his  cash. 

"Leave  dis  Pullman  boy  take  a  r'ar  at  de  clickers." 

"  'At's  me.  Hand  me  dem  bones.  C.  O.  D. — 
come  on,  dice!  Field  han's,  rally  round.  Shoots 
fifty  dollars.  Shower  down,  brothers.  Eagle  bones, 
see  kin  you  fly.  Bam!  I  reads  seven.  I  lets  it 
lay.  Shoots  a  hund'ed  dollars!  Fade  me  crazy 


LADY   LUCK  121 

folks,  fade  me!     Bam!     I  reads  six — four.     Slow 
death.     Resurrection  dice,  an'  I  reads  four — six." 

The  Wildcat  hauled  down  part  of  his  winnings. 

"Shoots  a  hundred  dollahs.  Shower  down, 
brothers.  Spark  in  de  powdeh!  Both  barrels. 
Right  an5  left.  Bam!  An'  dey  reads  'leven. 
Mowin'  money.  Us  does  a  cash  business.  I  lets  it 
lay.  Shower  down  yo'  money !" 

The  Spindlin'  Spider  faced  the  Wildcat.  "Boy, 
you  donates." 

"Don't  sass  me.  Headed  home  wid  feathers  in 
yo'  teeth.  Telegraph  dice,  click  fo'  de  coin.  Bam !" 

The  Spider  exercised  his  privilege  of  grabbing  the 
dice  before  they  had  stopped  rolling.  As  far  as  the 
Wildcat's  naked  eye  could  see,  the  same  dice  were 
rolled  back  at  him,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  Wild 
cat's  dice  nestled  close  against  the  epidermis  of  the 
Spindlin'  Spider's  right  p'alm. 

The  dice  that  had  been  returned  were  festooned 
with  misfortune.  The  Wildcat  had  overlooked  a 
bet.  He  curried  the  gallopers  to  blood  heat  in  his 
magenta  palm.  "Houn'  dog  headed  home  wid 
rabbit  hair  in  yo'  teeth!  Turkey  dice,  gobble  dat 
coin.  Bam! — How  come!" 
An  ace-deuce  bloomed  in  the  garden  of  chance. 

The  Spindlin  Spider  faced  the  Wildcat.  "Loses 
nuthin'  but  yo'  money,  boy.  Roll  'em." 

The  Wildcat  clipped  his  roll  for  another  hundred. 


122  LADY    LUCK 

"Shoots  a  hund'ed.  Shower  down,  fiel'  han's! 
Dice  hammer,  drive  de  gold  spike!  Ten-o-see! 
An'  I  reads  ace-dooce.  How  come  I  miss?" 

The  Spider  repeated  his  comforting  reminder: 
"Loses  nuthin'  but  yo'  money,  brother.  Roll  'em." 

The  Wildcat  pared  another  stratum  from  his 
dwindling  roll.  "Shoots  a  hund'ed  dollars.  Grass 
cuttehs,  reap  dem  greens!  Fade  me  an'  die  poor. 
Bam!  An'  I  reads — ace-dooce!  Doggone,  how 
come  I  set  fire  to  de  Chris'mus  tree?" 

"Ca'm  yo'se'f."  The  Spindlin'  brother  dished 
out  a  little  advice  as  he  picked  up  his  winnings. 
"What  fo'  you  talk  so  much?  You  must  think  dis 
is  a  peace  conflooence.  Roll  'em." 

Starting  in  the  sunshine  of  Lady  Luck's  smile, 
the  Wildcat  cleared  the  hurdles  of  financial  ruin 
and  rambled  into  the  stretch  soggy  with  a  cloud 
burst  of  hard  luck.  He  staked  his  last  pair  of  ten 
dollar  bills  on  a  throw  whose  momentum  carried 
him  to  the  cleaners. 

The  Spindlin'  Spider  urged  him  to  lay  further 
contributions  on  the  altar  of  chance. 

"I'se  done.  How  come?  Neveh  seed  such  a  hog 
for  money.  I'se  cleaned  now  an'  hung  on  de  line. 
All  I  craves  is  five  minutes  wid  Lady  Luck,  so  I  kin 
beat  dat  woman  to  death." 

Thereafter  for  half  an  hour  the  Wildcat  flopped 


LADY    LUCK  123 

dejected  and  inert  in  a  chair  in  the  lobby  of  the 
ramshackle  hotel. 

He  tried  .vainly  to  borrow  lunch  money  from  the 
victorious  Spindlin'  Spider.  "Ain't  puttin'  out 
nuthin'  today."  The  Spider  exhibited  a  heart  of 
flint. 

"Dem  train  robbehs  sho'  kain't  learn  yo'  nuthin'." 
The  Wildcat  subsided  in  his  chair.  "Wish't  ol' 
Cap'n  Jack  was  here.  Wish't  dat  doggone  mascot 
goat  hadn't  lost  me." 

The  lobby  of  the  hotel  was  warm,  and  presently 
the  pain  of  the  Wildcat's  financial  bruises  dissolved 
in  the  heated  air.  "Anyhow,  I  don't  botheh  work, 
wbrk  don't  botheh  me.  I  lost  my  money  when  de 
bones  read  three — 

"I  eats  when  I  kin  git  it, 
I  sleeps  mos'  all  de  time. 
I  don'  give  a  doggone 
If  de  sun  don't  neveh  shine." 

The  Wildcat's  head  dropped  forward,  and 
presently  he  was  doing  the  best  he  could  to  sleep 
for  ever. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE  Wildcat's  siesta  was  interrupted  by  a 
rumbling    voice    which    emanated    from    a 
chesty  policeman  who  was  engaged  in  dish 
ing  out  a  little  earnest  advice  to  the  proprietor  of 
the  hotel.     The  officer  raised  his  voice  for  the  ben 
efit  of  the  brunet  assemblage. 

"Trouble  is  trouble.  If  yez  have  business  on  th' 
street,  attind  to  ut,  but  save  th'  loafin'  f'r  another 
day.  Wid  all  thim  I.  W.  W.  bugs,  this  nigrah 
parade  tonight  is  apt  to  flash  into  a  race  riot.  If  it 
does,  th'  chief  ain't  goin'  to  stan'  no  foolin'.  The 
guns' 11  begin  barkin'  worse  than  a  Chinee  New  Year. 
Don't  look  for  no  trouble  an'  you  won't  find  it.  You 
boys  ain't  much  in  favour  in  this  town  right  now,  an' 
wan  false  move  in  tonight's  parade  might  make  a 
stampede  out  of  it,  wid  all  th'  dark  complexions  in 
town  three  jumps  ahead  of  some  red-hot  buckshot." 

The  Wildcat  shrivelled  up  in  his  chair.  The 
policeman's  warning  made  him  homesick.  He  re 
solved  to  stick  close  to  the  home  plate.  "Ah  don't 
crave  no  paradin'  roun'  whah  at  white  folks  is. 
Dese  uppity  yaller  niggahs  sho'  heads  fo'  trouble 
when  dey  starts  speakin'  white  folks'  talk.  Wish't 

124 


LADY   LUCK  125 

ol'  Cap'n  Jack  was  here.  He'd  sho'  learn  'em,  did 
dey  start  sumpin'.  Like  as  not  ol'  Cap'n  Jack  tear 
down  a  lamp  post  an'  beat  de  parade  ovah  de  head 
wid  it.  Parades  is  all  right  fo'  crematizin'  cere 
monies.  All  right  fo'  de  Ahmy  boys.  All  right  fo' 
funerals  an'  lodges.  Outside  o'  dat  dey's  dangerous. 
Me,  Ah  sees  kin  I  sleep  me  some  mo'." 

His  slumbers  were  again  interrupted  by  the  en 
trance  of  the  porter  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made 
en  route  from  The  Dalles  to  Portland. 

"Boy,  howdy." 

The  Wildcat  sat  up  and  blinked  a  pair  of  heavy 
lids  over  his  bulging  eyes.  "Doggone  if  it  ain't  mah 
ol'  fish  podneh.  Sho's  glad  to  meet  up  wid  you. 
How  is  you?" 

"Tol'able,  'ceptin'  I's  rushed.  Us  got  to  work 
dis  fish  business  fast.  I  don't  git  me  no  lay-over. 
Ol'  Pullman  boy's  done  switched  me  to  de  midnight 
run  fo'  San  F'mcisco  on  de  train  what  leaves  at  one 
o'clock  in  de  mawnin'.  Dat's  why  I  ain't  change' 
my  unifawm.  How  is  you"?  Did  de  man  give  you 
de  money  fo'  de  train  robbeh  letter?" 

The  Wildcat's  face,  which  had  lightened  in  greet 
ing  his  partner  in  the  smelt  fish  business,  was  sud 
denly  overspread  with  a  mask  of  melancholy. 
"Easy  come,  easy  go.  I's  busted." 

"How  come  you  bust  now,  when  dis  mawnin'  yo* 
back  was  broke  wid  a  thousand-dollah  letter?" 


126  LADY   LUCK 

"Met  up  wid  a  Spindlin'  boy  what  hit  me  wid 
some  C.  O.  D.  dice.  Cleaned  me." 

"Sho'  ha'd  luck.  You  sho'  got  action.  Neveh 
min',  I'se  got  'miff  to  start  de  fish  business  wid. 
Dey's  a  parade  tonight,  and  us  cleans  up  big,  sellin' 
fish  to  de  parade  niggers." 

The  pair  launched  into  the  working  details  of 
their  fried  fish  business. 

"Wilecat,  I  got  me  some  rubbah  boots.  Us  hires  a 
wagon  and  rambles  over  to  de  C'lumbia  River.  We 
loads  up  on  smelt  fish  an'  rambles  back.  We  fries 
de  fish  in  de  back  end  ob  oP  wagon  on  a  oil  stove." 

"Whah  at's  de  oil  stove?    Whah  at's  de  wagon?" 

"Us  rents  de  wagon  from  a  livery  stable  boy  I 
knows,  fo'  four  bits.  I  knows  where  us  kin  git  a 
oil  stove  f'm  a  boy  on  Front  Street.  Temporary, 
that  is.  Oil  stoves  comes  high  now." 

"Le's  go." 

"Wait  'til  I  gits  my  rubbah  boots." 

The  porter  reappeared  from  his  room  wearing  a 
pair  of  knee-length  rubber  boots. 

"Sho'  is  de  biggest  boots  I  ever  seed,"  the  Wildcat 
commented. 

The  Wildcat  held  the  door  open  until  his  com 
panion  had  navigated  the  channel  with  the  brace  of 
ponderous  violins  which  festooned  his  feet  and 
trotted  along  towards  the  livery  stable  in  cadence 
with  the  tromping  extremities  of  Dwindle  Daniels. 


LADY   LUCK  127 

"Sho'  is  de  biggest  foot  caves  I  ever  seed.  Was 
you  in  de  army  yo'  could  come  from  parade  rest  to 
'tenshun  without  movin'  dem  boots." 

At  the  livery  stable  Dwindle  Daniels  financed  the 
rental  of  a  light  wagon  and  a  heavy-set  mule.  The 
Wildcat  gathered  up  the  reins.  "Set  down  fo'  I 
starts,"  he  advised.  "Kain't  tell  about  dese  jug- 
heads." 

The  pair  discovered  presently  that  the  mule's 
maker  had  omitted  the  high  gear  from  the  animal's 
mechanism,  and  the  six-mile  trip  was  accomplished 
at  a  four-mile  gait.  The  mule  was  equally  in 
different  to  leather  and  language.  "  'Spec'  mebbe 
he's  delicate.  Some  is.  Comin'  back  I  gits  me  a 
saplin'  an'  sees  is  he.  No  mule  neveh  konkered  me 
yit." 

They  arrived  presently  at  the  bank  of  the  fish- 
crowded  Columbia  River,  where  the  business  of  load 
ing  their  wagon  with  smelt  occupied  them  for  less 
than  an  hour. 

"Neveh  seed  so  many  fish.  OP  river  sho'  is  dusty 
wid  fish.  Did  dese  fish  have  laigs  a  boy  couldn'  git 
down  de  road  past  'em." 

With  the  work  of  the  moment  completed,  Dwindle 
Daniels  obeyed  some  instinct  of  neatness.  He 
threaded  his  way  out  along  an  overhanging  piece  of 
driftwood  to  the  clear  water  of  the  river,  wherein 
he  proposed  to  wash  his  hands. 


128  LADY   LUCK 

The  Wildcat  watched  him  for  a  while  and  then 
broke  into  criticism.  "How  come  yo'  so  neat1? 
,Yo'  acts  like  a  barber  shop  boy,  all  de  time  cleanin' 
up.  Next  thing  you'll  be  cravin*  bear  grease  fo* 
yo'  hair  an'  a  sprinkle  o'  bay  rum." 

"I  craves  to  smell  human,"  the  porter  returned. 
"All  right  fo'  fish  to  smell  like  fish,  but  I  prefers  to 
let  'em  win  any  smell  race  dey  starts." 

In  replying  to  the  Wildcat,  Dwindle  Daniels  on 
his  slippery  perch  half  turned  his  head,  and  this  care 
lessness  precipitated  a  disaster  which  engulfed  him. 
One  of  the  ponderous  boots  slipped  from  the  branch 
of  driftwood  and  dragged  the  wearer's  leg  into  the 
river.  Thereafter  for  ten  seconds  the  porter  staged 
a  windmill  scene  compared  to  which  a  cyclone  in 
Holland  looked  like  a  quiet  night  on  the  Dead  Sea. 
Finally  the  drag  of  old  man  Gravity  won  all  bets. 
The  Wildcat's  bulging  eyes  witnessed  a  high  dive 
entirely  surrounded  by  frightened  fish  and  the  soft 
mud  which  lay  two  feet  below  the  water  surface. 
From  the  crater  of  the  mud  volcano  the  writhing 
form  of  the  neat  Dwindle  Daniels  finally  emerged. 
His  form-fitting  environment  of  mud  churned  and 
splashed  in  a  blast  of  agitated  language.  Some 
where  in  the  vortex  of  the  intimate  ooze  he  had  lost 
all  traces  of  his  religious  training.  He  combed  great 
handfuls  of  mud  from  his  plastered  features  and 
snorted  deep  draughts  of  fresh  air. 


LADY   LUCK  129 

He  excavated  his  eyes  and  then,  disdaining  the  un 
stable  footing  offered  by  the  driftwood,  he  ploughed 
his  way  ashore,  up  to  his  arm  pits  in  water  and  mud. 

On  the  bank  the  Wildcat  had  launched  into  his 
third  conniption  fit.  He  calmed  down  sufficiently 
to  choke  some  language  out  of  his  vocal  organs. 

"Yo'  sho'  looks  neat  now.  Ain't  seed  such  a 
ruckus  since  de  flood  hit  Memphis.  I  knowed  dem 
was  hoodoo  boots.  Bam!  Down  yo'  goes  like  a 
ol'  hell  diver.  Mawnin' !  Up  yo'  comes  like  a  ol' 
mud  turtle.  Git  in  de  wagon,  Mud  Turtle.  On  de 
way  home  you  dries  out.  Leave  dat  mud  git  dry 
befo'  you  tries  to  brush  it  off." 

Dwindle  Daniels  spent  an  hour  on  the  way  home 
in  hatching  himself  out  of  a  shell  of  mud. 

"Neveh  min',  ol'  Mud. Turtle,"  the  Wildcat  com 
forted.  "Us  cleans  up  big  money  when  us  sells  dese 
fish  tonight." 

At  eight  o'clock,  under  a  sputtering  arc  light  on 
Front  Street,  the  Wildcat  and  Dwindle  Daniels  were 
established  in  the  business  of  selling  fried  fish  and 
waiting  for  the  rush  of  trade  that  would  come  when 
the  parade  passed  them. 

"Stan5  close  to  de  oil  stove,  ol'  Mud  Turtle.  I 
cracks  de  shell  off  o'  you  befo'  de  train  leaves.  Dis 
sho'  is  de  slow  dryenest  mud  I  ever  seed.  Leave 
them  pants  on  you.  Does  you  take  'em  off  you 
neveh  gits  'em  back.  Stan'  still." 


130  LADY   LUCK 

The  Wildcat  broke  a  few  pounds  of  mud  from  the 
porter's  uniform. 

"Stan'  close  to  de  blaze.  When  de  mud  dries  you 
peels  easy  as  a  shell-bark  hick'ry  nut." 

The  success  of  the  peeling  process  was  all  gummed 
up  at  nine  o'clock  by  the  Portland  humidity,  which 
won  its  usual  bet.  From  the  heavy  .skies  a  light 
rain  began  to  fall. 

At  half  past  nine,  with  the  booming  drums  of  the 
parade  sounding  up  the  street,  the  shivering  form  of 
Dwindle  Daniels  was  again  sogged  down  to  its  origi 
nal  saturation  point. 

"Wilecat,  I  don'  see  how  kin  I  make  mah  run  to 
San  F'mcisco." 

"Yo'  makes  yo'  run  all  right.  Yo'  dead-heads 
me,  an'  I  does  yo'  work  whilst  yo'  hangs  out  de  front 
vegetable  ob  de  car.  OP  wind  dry  yo'  out  sudden. 
Git  ready  fo'  de  gran'  rush.  Here's  de  head  ob  de 
parade." 

The  Wildcat  threw  back  his  head  and  bawled  into 
the  evening  air:  "Fried  fish!  Smelt  fish!  Here 
you  is,  two  bits  a  pan!" 

He  lowered  his  head  to  gratify  his  curiosity  con 
cerning  the  technique  of  beating  a  bass  drum.  "Sho* 
craves  'at  boy's  job.  Some  day  when  I  gits  rich  I 
buys  me  a  bass  drum.  'At  drum  bammer  sho' 
swings  a  mean  club." 

"Fried  fish!     Smelt  fishes!     Two  bits  a  pan!" 


LADY   LUCK  131 

Following  the  band  and  leading  the  parade,  heav 
ily  laden  with  a  false  dignity  which  had  completely 
eradicated  his  spinal  curvature,  there  appeared  the 
rag-head  Hindoo  who  had  escaped  with  the  Wildcat 
from  the  carload  of  undesirable  aliens  on  the  night 
of  the  train  robbers'  fiesta  below  The  Dalles. 

A  little  before  the  head  of  the  parade  reached  the 
arc  light  under  which  the  Wildcat  and  Dwindle 
Daniels  had  inaugurated  their  fish  business,  the  Hin 
doo  turned  and  raised  his  arms. 

The  parade  stopped. 

The  rag-head  signalled  for  his  companions  to  come 
close  about  him. 

In  precise  English  he  broke  into  a  violent  harangue 
wherein  the  least  radical  of  the  evil  doctrines  which 
he  preached  would  have  been  sufficient  to  transform 
the  United  States  into  a  second  Russia. 

Midway  of  his  speech  one  of  the  accompanying 
platoon  of  police  officers  stepped  up  to  him. 

"Can  that  stuff,  you  Anarchist !     Come  wid  me !" 

The  officer  reached  for  the  Hindoo,  and  this  ges 
ture  of  the  law's  hand  was  a  signal  which  launched 
a  riot  into  being. 

"Boy,  dis  looks  like  a  bad  ruckus !"  The  Wildcat 
spoke  quickly  to  Dwindle  Daniels.  "WisSh't  ol' 
Cap'n  Jack  was  here.  Chances  is,  us  niggahs  gits 
lynched." 

On  the  tense  instant  of  conflict  a  solution  to  the 


132  LADY   LUCK 

threatening  disaster  was  born  to  the  Wildcat.  Witbj 
all  the  energy  of  his  lungs,  he  bawled  his  peace  mes 
sage  into  the  turmoil  of  the  night. 

"Free  fish !     Hot  fish  free !     Come  an'  git  it !" 

Fifty  feet  from  him  the  rag-head  Hindoo  broke 
loose  from  the  police  officer.  The  Wildcat  wit 
nessed  the  escape.  The  Hindoo  raced  towards  him, 
and  it  was  then  that  mutual  recognition  was  accom 
plished.  The  Wildcat  leaped  into  the  fugitive's 
pathway  and  extended  his  foot. 

The  Hindoo  Anarchist  pulled  a  galloping  somer 
sault.  He  revolved  twice  in  the  air,  and  then  his 
face  ploughed  heavily  into  the  pavement. 

"Hot  dam !     Neveh  seed  a  boy  so  agile !" 

The  police  officer  exercised  the  good  judgment 
common  to  the  majesty  of  the  law  in  moments  of 
great  mental  stress. 

He  made  a  swing  at  the  Wildcat  with  his  stick. 

"Plunk!" 

The  locust  club  impacted  heavily  on  the  Wildcat's 
skull. 

The  Wildcat  blinked  his  eyes.  "How  come? 
Cap'n,  suh,  I  thought  yo'  craved  to  ketch  dat  rag- 
head  boy!" 

He  pointed  at  the  inert  Hindoo  lying  on  the  pave 
ment. 

"Didn't  aim  to  hit  you." 

"Cap'n,  yes,  suh."     .The  Wildcat  hoped  that  the 


LADY   LUCK  133 

next  time  the  policeman  would  aim  straight  at  him. 
He  turned  to  the  crowd  and  renewed  his  pacifying 
propaganda. 

"Free   fish!     Come   an'   git   it.     Here  you   is, 
boys!" 

The  Wildcat's  invitation  and  the  smell  of  the  fry 
ing  smelt  won  the  field  against  the  doctrines  of  the 
defeated  agitator.  A  minute  later  the  fish  wagon 
was  ringed  about  with  a  hundred  brunet  fish  eaters. 
The  riot  had  evaporated.  Here  was  the  end  of  the 
trail. 

Serious  thinking  gave  place  to  heavy  eating. 
Crazy  ideas  no  longer  tormented  heads  whose  owners' 
object  in  life  was  to  eat  more  fried  smelt  than,  the 
men  next  to  them. 

The  sergeant  commanding  the  platoon  of  police 
sized  up  the  situation.  "Looks  to  me  like  the  end 
of  a  perfect  day." 

A  brother  officer  addressed  the  sergeant.  "Better 
take  this  rag-head  in  with  us.  How  about  it?" 

"Sure.     Book  him  as  a  vag  until  we  see  who  he  is. 
Tell  Jimmy  to  hold  him  on  an  A  and  B  charge  if  any 
of  them  jail-breaking  law  sharks  try  to  spring  him." 
The  Wildcat  broke  in  with  a  little  testimony. 
"Cap'n,  suh,  I  knows  dat  boy.     He  bust  loose 
from  a  travellin'  jail  on  de  train  comin'  from  Chi 
cago.    The  guv'ment  men  ketched  him  some  place." 
The  sergeant  of  police  looked  quickly  at  the  officer 


134  LADY   LUCK 

whose  fingers  were  .closed  about  the  chain  attached 
to  the  handcuffs  of  the  Hindoo's  wrists. 

"Hear  what  this  boy  says?  Maybe  this  rag-head 
is  that  agitatin'  alien  that  got  loose  from  the  carload 
that  landed  here  three  days  ago/' 

"How  about  holdin'  this  fellow  for  a  witness?" 
The  officer  nodded  his  head  towards  the  Wildcat. 
The  Sergeant  debated  for  a  moment,  during  which 
the  Wildcat's  freedom  wavered  in  aai  unstable  bal 
ance. 

Finally  the  Sergeant  spoke,  and  with  his  words  the 
Wildcat's  liberty  was  assured.  "We  don't  need 
him.  We've  got  enough  to  hold  this  rag-head  with 
— and  the  bull  pen  is  crowded  anyhow." 

The  Wildcat  got  the  drift  of  the  crisis  which  had 
passed.  "Cap'n,  suh,  I  sho'  is  obliged  to  you.  Me 
an'  ol*  Mud  Turtle  here  aims  to  take  our  midnight 
run  to  San  F'mcisco." 

The  Mud  Turtle,  who  was  busy  dealing  out  free 
fried  smelt,  paused  long  enough  to  crack  a  few  seg 
ments  of  dried  mud  from  his  uniform.  He  hit  him 
self  on  the  chest,  and  another  nickel-plated  button  in 
an  area  of  blue  cloth  was  revealed  in  the  light  of  the 
street  lamp. 

"Us  sho'  do,"  he  confirmed.  "Me  an'  dis  Wilecat 
boy's  Pullman  men." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  Wildcat  augmented  the 


LADY   LUCK  135 

disappearing  supply  of  free  fish  with  a  little  sound 
advice  to  his  patrons. 

"Neveh  seed  such  fool  niggers.  Was  ol'  Cap'n 
Jack  here  he  sho'  would  ca'm  you  down  wid  a  club. 
You  gits  yo'  haids  full  ob  crazy  notions,  an'  after  de 
ruckus  dey  hauls  you  out  feet  fust.  Think  like 
white  folks  does  if  you  craves  to,  but  unless  you  aims 
to  festoon  yo'  health  an'  strength  wid  a  funeral  box 
an'  lead  a  graveyard  procession,  stop  wid  de  thinkin'. 
Think  like  white  folks  does,  but  don't  act  dat  way. 
Next  time,  befo'  you  'filiates  wid  any  wild  men,  say 
howdy  to  a  mess  o'  vittles.  De  river's  full  o'  free 
fish,  an'  de  jail's  full  o'  crazy  folks  like  dat  rag-head 
Hindoo  boy.  Next  time  anybody  tells  you  you's  de 
same  as  white  folks,  bust  him  in  de  nose  an'  walk 
away  fast.  'At's  all." 

The  Wildcat  ended  his  preaching  and  turned  to 
his  associate. 

"Come  on  heah,  ol'  Mud  Turtle.  Le's  take  dis 
mule  an'  wagon  back  to  dat  liv'ry  stable  boy  befo'  us 
gits  'rested  fo'  lendin'  him  permanent." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE  Wildcat  drove  to  the  livery  stable.    The 
Mud  Turtle,  seated  beside  him,  spent  the 
time  en  route  to  the  place  in  scraping  the 
mud  from  his  southern  hemisphere. 

At  the  livery  stable  he  removed  his  ponderous  rub 
ber  boots  and  sloshed  his  feet  with  a  hose.  He  paid 
the  rent  for  the  mule  and  wagon.  "Heah's  fo'  bits 
mo'.  Take  dat  oil  stove  back  to  dat  sto'  by  de 
riveh,"  he  directed. 

Carrying  the  boots  in  his  hand,  he  walked  beside 
the  Wildcat  toward  the  ramshackle  hotel  below 
Burnside  Street. 

In  the  cold  night  a  summary  of  the  day's  misfor 
tunes  settled  heavily  on  the  marching  pair.  "Sho' 
turned  out  rough,"  the  Mud  Turtle  remarked. 

The  Wildcat  sought  a  smile  in  the  frown  which 
had  gathered  on  Lady  Luck's  features. 

"Sho'  might  been  worse.  S'posin'  you'd  been 
drowned  in  de  riveh.  S'posin'  dat  policeman  had 
took  me  to  jail.  S'posin'  I'd  a  had  two  thousan' 
dollars  'stid  o'  one  when  'at  boy  cleaned  me.  Naw, 
suh!  Us  is  half  lucky.  Wish't  I  could  meet  up 

wid  'at  boy  now  an'  give  him  a  ride  wid  a  pair  o' 

136 


LADY   LUCK  137 

taper  bones  like  de  Backslid  Baptis'  used  to  make." 
The  Mud  Turtle  looked  sideways  at  the  Wildcat. 
"Boy,  you  an'  me  is  podnehs.     Confidential,  I  tells 
you  does  you  crave  taper  bones  I  has  me  a  pair." 
"Is  you?     Lemme  see,  Mud  Turtle,  lemme  see!" 
The  porter  fished  around  in  an  inside  pocket  of  his 
soggy  uniform  and  produced  a  pair  of  green  dice. 

"Heah  dey  is.  I  dassn't  use  'em.  Ain't  learned 
de  thumb  twist  yit,  an'  dey  sho'  means  trouble  is  you 
ketched  workin'  'em." 

"Gimme  dem  bones,  boy.  I  craves  trouble  wid 
'dat  Spindlin'  niggah  what  cleaned  me.  Gimme  ten 
dollahs.  Pray  to  Lady  Luck  to  have  dat  boy  waitin' 
at  de  hotel.  By  rights  'at's  my  money.  Does  I 
meet  up  wid  dat  boy  I  sho'  cleans  him  rough !" 

The  Mud  Turtle  handed  the  dice  and  ten-dollar 
bill  to  the  Wildcat.  "Lady  Luck  don't  have  to  do 
nuthin'.  That  boy  nevah  is  anywhere  else  'cept  at 
de  hotel.  Does  you  start  sumpin'  finish  quick! 
It's  midnight  now,  an*  'at  San  F'mcisco  train  pulls 
out  at  one  o'clock." 

The  Wildcat  paid  no  heed  to  his  companion's 
words.  He  was  engaged  in  twisting  the  dice  in  the 
nervous  fingers  of  his  right  hand. 

"Dey  feels  right!  Dey  sho'  feels  right!  Boy, 
de  thumb  twist  come  to  me  befo'  I  was  nine  yeahs 
old.  When  I  was  fo'teen  mah  uncle  Gabe  learnt  me 
neveh  to  dooce,  trey,  or  twelve.  Wid  dese  bones 


138  LADY   LUCK 

an'  yo'  ten-dollah  bill,  when  I  gits  th'oo  wid  'at  nig 
ger  he  won't  have  no  mo'  money  than  a  frog  has 
feathers.'* 

The  pair  entered  the  hotel. 

The  Mud  Turtle  went  directly  to  his  room,  where 
in  he  began  the  difficult  business  of  oozing  his  num 
ber  twelve  feet  into  a  pair  of  number  ten  shoes. 

The  Wildcat  sought  the  Spindlin'  Spider  in  whose 
web  he  had  sacrificed  his  thousand  dollars  earlier  in 
the  day. 

He  found  his  man  leaning  against  a  pool  table  in  a 
room  adjoining  the  lobby  of  the  hotel. 

"Howdy,  boy."  The  honeyed  accents  of  gentle 
forgiveness  dripped  from  the  Wildcat's  quiet  salu 
tation. 

The  Spindlin'  Spider  looked  at  him.  "Howdy. 
How  is  you*?" 

"Me"?  I's  noble — an'  bustin'  wid  a  cravin'  fo* 
revenge."  The  Wildcat  raised  his  voice.  "Shoots 
tendollahs!" 

Under  the  flat  nose  of  the  Spindlin'  Spider  he 
waved  the  ten-dollar  bill  which  he  had  borrowed 
from  the  Mud  Turtle. 

The  Spider  produced  a  roll  of  bills  and  peeled  a 
ten  spot  therefrom.  "Roll  'em !  YOU  an'  me  both 
craves  action." 

The  Wildcat  had  hooked  his  fish. 

He  twisted  the  green  taper  dice  in  a  handful  of 


LADY   LUCK  139 

fingers  whose  tips  bulged  with  a  fine  technique  that 
had  distilled  from  years  of  study  and  practice. 

Here  on  the  green  cloth  of  the  pool  table  was  his 
field  of  battle. 

Before  him  lay  his  entire  capital,  matched  by  an 
equal  amount  from  the  Spindlin'  Spider's  roll. 

"I's  a  Wildcat  for  revenge,  an'  I's  on  my 
prowl!  Pay-day  dice,  speak  mah  name!  Bam! 
Five  and  a  dooce.  I  lets  it  lay.  Shower  down!" 

The  Spindlin'  Spider  covered  his  bet. 

"Gallopers,  stay  lame  on  seven.  Train  robber 
babies,  fo'ty  dollars  in  de  sack.  I  reads  six-five! 
Rally  roun',  boys.  Shoots  fo'ty  dollars.  Fade  me, 
boy.  Bugle  dice,  blow  de  cash  call.  Harvest 
babies,  pick  yo'  cotton!  Bam!  An'  I  reads  fo' 
trey!" 

The  Wildcat  stowed  away  a  trio  of  ten-dollar  bills 
as  an  insurance  policy  against  accident. 

"Shoots  fifty  dollars!" 

The  Spindlin'  Spider  shaved  five  ten-dollar  bills 
from  his  roll.  "Roll  'em,"  he  said. 

The  Wildcat  lifted  his  brace  of  tapered  cubes 
high  above  his  head. 

"Honey-bee  babies,  git  yo'  stinger  hot.  Shotgun 
dice,  spout  yo'  lead.  Key  cubes,  unlock  de  han'cuffs. 
Bam!  Dey  reads  seven.  I  lets  it  lay.  Shower 
down,  boy.  Fade  me.  Shoots  a  hund'ed  dollars !" 

"You're  faded."     The  Spider  had  his  feet  wet, 


140  LADY   LUCK 

and  now  he  waded  deeper  into  the  river  of  revenge., 

The  Wildcat  rolled  the  dice  against  his  legs. 

"Squirrel  dice,  ketch  de  top  limb!  Ham  cubes, 
drip  yo'  gravy!  Mule  bones,  resurrection  morn. 
Breakin'  on  de  B.  &  O.  — Bust  an'  out.  Baptisin' 
babies,  hold  his  head  under." 

The  gallopers  rattled  across  the  pool  table  and 
went  to  sleep  with  a  six-five  staring  the  Spindlin' 
Spider  in  the  face. 

"I  lets  it  lay !  Shoots  two  hundred  dollars.  De 
gin  dice  makes  de  big  boy  sick.  Fade  me,  ol'  mule- 
lip.  What  f o'  is  yo'  mouth  draggin'  ?" 

A  look  of  doubt  began  to  travel  across  the 
Spindlin'  Spider's  features,  but  the  moral  pressure 
of  the  crowd  about  him  forced  him  into  the  slaugh 
ter  house.  He  counted  two  hundred  dollars  from 
his  roll  and  laid  it  beside  the  Wildcat's  stake. 

The  Wildcat  breathed  the  hot  breath  of  hope  upon 
the  twin  cubes  in  his  hand.  "Lady  dice,  git  lovely. 
Snake  babies,  coil  'roun*  de  coin.  Grub  cubes,  'sem- 
ble  yo'  rations!  Army  gallopers,  as  you  was! 
Bam!" 

The  green  clickers  subsided  near  the  end  cushion 
of  the  pool  table.  A  five  spot  smiled  on  the  top 
side  of  one  and  a  helpful  dooce  laughed  cheerfully 
at  the  Wildcat  from  the  other. 

"Hot  dam!  Weddin*  dice  done  rung  de  bell^ 
'At's  fo'  hund'ed  dollars.  Shoots  fo'  hundred! 


LADY   LUCK  141 

Fade  me !     You  says  yo'  blood  is  hot  fo'  action. 
Fade  me!" 

The  lower  jaw  swinging  from  the  Spindlin'  Spi 
der's  face  drooped  something  less  than  a  foot.  His 
expression  was  suddenly  full  of  quinine.  He  craved 
an  exit  while  the  exit  business  was  good,  but  a  repu 
tation  created  by  considerable  indiscreet  language 
had  locked  the  door. 

From  his  depleted  roll  he  laid  down  forty  ten- 
dollar  bills. 

"  'At  about  cleans  me."  He  looked  at  the  re 
mains  of  his  stake.  "  'At  about  cleans  me." 

His  voice  had  lost  the  aggressive  quality  which 
had  marked  his  oratory  five  minutes  earlier. 

"  'At's  eight  hund'ed  dollars.  More  like  I's  used 
to  shootin'."  The  Wildcat  rubbed  his  fingers'  tips 
quickly  across  the  taper  cubes. 

"Eight  hund'ed  iron  men.  Lady  Luck,  stan'  by 
me !  Preacheh  bones,  make  'em  bow  down.  Riveh 
dice,  high  an'  dry.  Over  de  riffle.  Whuff !  Bam ! 
An'  I  reads  seven." 

"Ump!"  The  Spindlin'  Spider  grunted  an  ac 
companiment  to  a  wave  of  grey  which  lightened  the 
ebony  of  his  features. 

The  Wildcat  picked  up  the  mass  of  banknotes  and 
straightened  them  out.  He  turned  to  the  Spider. 
"Mule  Lip,  how  much  is  you  got  left?  Shoots  you 
fo'  what  you's  got.  Mebbe  you  builds  up.  Neveh 


142  LADY   LUCK 

can  tell.     Mah  luck's  boun'  to  break  sometime." 

The  Spider  replied  weakly,  "I'se  got  mine.  'At's 
plenty." 

"What  you  mean  you's  got  yours?  Thought  you 
claimed  you  was  a  spo't.  You's  got  money,  ain't 
you?  You  ain't  got  yours  till  you  goes  broke. 
Ain't  I  right,  boys?" 

The  Wildcat  made  a  quick  survey  of  the  faces 
about  him. 

From  the  lips  of  the  Mud  Turtle,  who  had  silently 
joined  the  group,  came  a  come-on  verdict.  "You 
sho'  is." 

"Hear  dat?"  The  Wildcat  turned  again  to  the 
Spindlin'  Spider.  "Hear  dat?  You  ain't  got  yours 
till  you  goes  broke.  How  much  is  you  got? 
Shoots  it  all.  Double  or  nuthin'." 

The  Spider  weakly  disgorged  his  roll.  He 
counted  out  a  total  of  two  hundred  dollars. 

"Boy — one  pass  an'  I  cleans  you.  Li'l  snow 
flakes,  sof'ly  fall.  Come  on,  dice,  C.  O.  D.  — Bam ! 
An'  de  black  specs  read — seven.  Hot  dam!  Boy, 
you's  done.  Lady  Luck,  heah  you  is !" 

The  Wildcat  pocketed  his  roll  of  bills  and  covered 
the  money  with  a  wide  palm  wherein  lay  the  taper 
cubes.  He  edged  through  the  crowd.  With  his 
left  hand  he  reached  for  the  Mud  Turtle, 

"Come  on  heah,  boy.  Dat  San  F'mcisco  train  gits 
nervous  doggone  soon." 


LADY   LUCK  143 

In  the  vestibule  of  the  Mud  Turtle's  car  on  the 
San  Francisco  train  the  Wildcat  held  out  the  taper 
cubes  and  a  handful  of  winnings.  '"OP  Mud  Tur 
tle,  heah's  yo'  victory  dice  an'  fo'  hund'ed  dollars. 
Dat  gits  you  a  new  unifawm.  Git  in  dere  by  de 
Steampipes  whilst  I  tells  dem  passenger  folks  where 
de  San  F'mcisco  train  goes  to.  Hot  dam !  I  knowed 
dem  smelt  fish  was  lucky !" 

The  Mud  Turtle  pocketed  his  dice.  "Wilecat, 
I's  lucky  too.  Fall  in  de  riveh  an'  comes  out  wid 
fo'  hund'ed  dollahs!  You  sho'  got  speed!" 

"Call  dat  speed — wait  till  us  'cumulates  mah 
mascot  goat.  Den  us  heats  up  dem  C.  O.  D.  dice, 
an'  Ah  shows  you  what  me  an'  Lady  Luck  kin  do 
when  de  speed  bell  rings.  .You  ain't  seed  no  speed 
fet!" 


CHAPTER   XIV 

LEAVING  Portland  an  hour  after  midnight, 
the  deadhead  Wildcat  sat  in  the  smoking 
room  of  the  Mud  Turtle's  San  Francisco 
bound  Pullman.     The  Passengers  were  in  bed.     On 
the  window  end  of  the  leather  seat,  shivering  himself 
out  of  a  coating  of  Columbia  river  mud  -which  he  had 
accumulated  that  afternoon  during  the  smelt  harvest, 
was  the  Mud  Turtle. 

"Boy,  dem  shivers  is  workin'  overtime.  Neveh 
seed  such  a  partial-shiverin'  fool.  How  come  yo' 
mis'ry  gits  you  by  fractions?  Shiver  all  over  an* 
git  done  wid  it.  Is  you  cold  inside*?" 

The  Mud  Turtle  forcibly  arrested  his  chattering 
teeth.  He  calmed  his  vocal  organs  and  answered 
the  Wildcat,  but  when  he  became  articulate  his  feet 
assumed  the  staccato  movement. 

The  Wildcat  looked  at  him.  "Stan'  up  befo'  you 
loses  dat  step.  Leave  me  learn  'at  new  foot  work. 
I  nevah  seed  feet  so  anxious.  Don't  waste  dem 
steps."  The  Mud  Turtle  grabbed  his  knees  and 
shoved  his  feet  firmly  against  the  floor  of  the  car. 
"Wilecat,  what  I  needs  is  gin  till  I  gits  warmed  up." 

144 


LADY   LUCK  145 

"You  an'  me  bofe.  Any  boy  needs  gin.  I  been 
needin'  it  since  away  back.  You  sho'  looks  cold. 
Was  you  a'  ice  man  you'd  be  rich.  I'se  seed  folks 
cold  an'  I'se  seed  'em  shiver,  but  it  sho'  looks  to  me, 
Mud  Turtle,  like  you'se  de  champion  shimmy  king 
ob  de  worl'.  Ketch  dat  leg!  Doggone,  boy,  you 
sho'  would  be  pop'lar  durin'  de  hot  spell  down  where 
us  comes  f  'urn.  You  makes  me  cold  lookin'  at  you." 

The  Mud  Turtle's  jaws  started  on  another  chatter 
ing  ruckus. 

"Dere  you  goes  agin!  Now  you  cain't  talk. 
Whilst  you'se  dumb  I'se  a  mind  to  use  some  cuss 
words  on  you  what  ol'  Cap'n  Jack  learned  me.  Sho' 
would  use  'em,  'ceptin'  dey'd  burn  you  to  a  cinder. 
Stay  here  whilst  I  'vestigates  an'  sees  kin  I  'cumulate 
some  stove  juice  to  heat  you  up  wid." 

The  Wildcat  walked  ahead  through  the  train. 
He  sought  strong  drink  from  every  porter  he  encoun 
tered,  but  his  search  was  unsuccessful  until  he  came 
to  the  dining  car. 

"Whah  at  you  think  you  is?  Heavin?  Cuba? 
Ain't  nuthin'  to  drink  on  dis  car."  A  burly  chef 
answered  the  Wildcat's  inquiry. 

"Dey's  a  cold  boy  back  dere.  Fell  in  de  river  an' 
stood  out  in  de  night  rain  in  Poteland.  Can't  git 
near  him  for'  chips  o'  teeth  flyin'  through  de  air. 
When  he  gits  to  shiverin'  good  he  looks  like  him  an' 
two  twin  brothehs." 


146  LADY   LUCK 

"White  boy?"  The  chef  ventured  a  casual  in 
quiry. 

"Is  I  said  white  boy?  White  boy  packs  it  wid 
'em.  It's  mah  ol'  Mud  Turtle  podneh  what  craves 
de  gin." 

"  'At's  difFunt."  The  chef  grunted  and  got  up 
from  the  poker  game  which  was  raging.  "Come  wid 
me."  He  led  the  Wildcat  into  the  kitchen  of  the 
car.  From  one  of  the  cupboards  against  the  parti 
tion  he  lifted  a  pint  bottle  full  of  a  light  yellow 
fluid.  He  poured  some  of  this  into  a  smaller  bottle. 
Out  of  another  bottle  containing  a  brown  aromatic 
liquid  he  filled  the  third  bottle.  He  shook  the 
smaller  bottle  until  the  two  liquids  in  it  were  mixed. 
He  handed  the  bottle  to  the  Wildcat.  "Give  dat 
boy  dis." 

"Sho'  will.     What's  de  name  o'  dis  licker?" 
"Ain't  got  no  public  name.     Us  boys  calls  it  'hoof 
oil.'     It  kicks — some.     Better  tie  'at  boy's  hind 
laigs  does  he  take  mo'n  two  drinks." 
"What's  de  'ingredients?" 

"Dat's  a  church  secret.     Don't  ask  me  no  ques 
tions.     'At's  five  dollahs." 

"Five  dollahs!     What  you  mean  church  secret?" 

"I'se  a  hooch  rabbi,  off  de  run.     I  leads  a  Oakland 

ginagogue.     I  said  five  dollahs.     How  you  spec'  us 

rabbis  gwine  to  thrive,  'ceptin'  by  takin'  up  de  collec- 


LADY   LUCK  147 

tion  now  an'  den  when  we  issues  dis  here  rabbi 
juice?" 

"How  come  dat  rabbi  name1?" 

The  chef  looked  at  him.  "You  sho'  is  a'  ignorant 
niggah.  Ain't  you  met  up  wid  no  rabbis  yet1?" 

"Cain't  say  I  is.     What  is  dey?' 

In  the  chef's  gaze  was  an  expression  of  contempt. 
"Boy,  when  you  sees  me  you  sees  a  rabbi.  I  works 
at  de  rabbi  business  between  trips.  De  rabbi  lodge 
was  o'ganized  wid  all  de  culled  bartenders.  Now 
days  mos'  all  we  rabbis  is  union  bootleggers.  Git 
back  dah  wid  dat  hoof  oil  befo'  it  blows  up.  Where- 
at's  de  five  dollahs?" 

The  Wildcat  handed  the  chef  a  five-dollar  bill 
and  returned  to  his  car,  where  the  Mud  Turtle  was 
doing  the  best  he  could  to  shake  his  arms  off. 

"Hot  dam !  Heah  you  is,  oP  Mud  Turtle.  You 
sho'  got  a  noble  rattle  in  yo'  right  han'.  'Pears  like 
wid  a  pair  o'  gallopin'  cubes  you  might  throw  some 
kill  in'  sevens.  'Sorb  one  drink  o'  dis  heah  rabbi 
juice  an'  resurrect  yo'self." 

"One  drink !  Boy,  gimme  dat  bottle.  I  handles 
mah  licker !"  The  Wildcat  uncorked  the  bottle  and 
held  it  to  the  Mud  Turtle's  chattering  lips.  The 
Mud  Turtle  took  a  whiff  of  the  liquid.  Its  perfume 
seemed  to  inspire  a  new  set  of  internal  calisthenics 
in  the  Mud  Turtle  .  After  he  had  quit  writhing  the 


148  LADY   LUCK 

Wildcat  again  pressed  the  -remedy  upon  him. 
"Drink  it,  fo'  I  drips  it  on  you.  Go  ahead  an'  drink. 
I'll  hoi'  yo'  nose."  He  succeeded  in  pouring  the 
contents  of  the  bottle  into  the  Mud  Turtle. 

The  Mud  Turtle  absorbed  the  hoof  oil  as  far  as 
his  equator.  Then  he  reacted  with  a  series  of  undu 
lations  in  which  was  all  of  the  reserve  energy  of  the 
surging  deep.  Then  he  suddenly  became  quiet,  ex 
cept  for  his  rolling  eyeballs,  from  which  gleamed 
an  exalted  light. 

"Dat  sho'  tamed  you.  Is  yo'  insides  hot?" 
The  Mud  Turtle's  only  reply  was  a  sudden  stiffen 
ing  of  his  right  leg,  followed  a  second  later  by  a 
similar  movement  with  his  left.  His  right  arm  ex 
tended  violently;  then  the  ham-sized  fist  on  the  end 
of  his  left  arm  went  through  the  plate  glass  window 
beside  him.  He  leaped  to  the-centre  of  the  smoking 
compartment.  For  a  moment  he  danced  on  both 
feet,  and  then  he  began  to  stage  a  movement 
compared  to  which  a  cyclone  was  only  a  boy's- 
size  disturbance.  He  combined  the  activity  of 
a  whirling  dervish  with  the  technique  of  an  earth 
quake. 

The  Wildcat  retreated  to  the  safety  of  the  tapes 
try  curtain  which  hung  in  the  doorway.  There  for 
a  little  while  he  conducted  an  innocent  bystander 
business,  which  presently  ended  in  disaster.  Up  to 
the  moment,  the  Mud  Turtle  had  been  silent,  but 


LADY   LUCK  149 

now  from  his  throat  came  a  yelp  which  drowned  the 
rattle  of  the  train. 

The  Wildcat  sought  to  calm  him  down.  "How 
come4?  Boy,  git  tame.  You'll  wake  de  white  folks 
in  dis  car  an'  dey'll  massacre  you.  Shut  up  befo' 
dey  gits  you." 

The  Mud  Turtle's  only  answer  was  a  renewed 
succession  of  yells.  Suddenly  he  stopped  short 
where  he  stood,  and  for  a  space  of  minutes  he  re 
garded  his  companion  with  a  pair  of  glassy  eyes 
under  whose  hypnotic  spell  the  Wildcat  began  to 
shrivel. 

"Don'  look  dat  way.  You's  got  de  graveyard 
eye.  You  took  too  much  hoof  oil,"  he  said  weakly. 
"Lemme  put  'at  blanket  'roun'  you."  He  took  one 
step  towards  the  centre  of  the  compartment,  and  on 
the  instant  the  Mud  Turtle  leaped  at  him. 

The  Wildcat  had  been  in  many  a  ruckus  abroad 
and  at  home,  but  home  was  never  like  this,  and  the 
worst  he  saw  in  France  was  a  busy  time  at  Chateau 
Thierry.  This  was  different  trouble  and  worse. 
The  Wildcat  abandoned  his  tactics  of  fair  fighting. 
He  kicked  and  struck  wildly  at  the  Mud  Turtle  with 
out  effect.  He  despaired  of  conquering  the  tornado 
which  writhed  on  the  floor  beside  him.  Then  he 
succeeded  in  obtaining  the  blanket  in  which  the  Mud 
Turtle  had  been  wrapped.  He  maneuvered  for 
three  seconds  and  threw  a  hitch  around  the  Mud 


150  LADYLUCK 

Turtle's  neck  and  another  one  around  his  leg.  An 
instant  later  the  whirlwind  was  trussed  up  and  con 
fined  with  a  hard  square  knot. 

The  Mud  Turtle's  yells  gave  place  to  a  series  of 
snarling  grunts,  punctuated  now  and  then  with  the 
yowling  scream  invented  some  years  back  by  the  fe 
male  panther.  The  Wildcat  secured  a  folded  towel 
from  the  rack  above  his  head,  and  in  a  moment  the 
panther  was  muffled.  The  victor  stood  panting  for 
a  little  while,  gazing  at  the  conquest  which  still 
writhed  and  rolled  on  the  floor. 

The  Wildcat  reached  for  the  empty  bottle  and 
inspected  five  or  six  drops  of  liquid  which  remained 
in  it.  "Hoof  oil,  you  sho'  is  double  dynamite. 
Rabbi  juice,  I  saves  you.  Mebbe  sometime  I  meets 
up  wid  a  army  whut  starts  a  ruckus  wid  me.  Den 
I'll  'sorb  two  drops  an'  win  de  battle." 

He  replaced  the  cork  in  the  bottle  and  stowed  it 
carefully  in  his  pocket.  "Does  I  need  to  I  figger  dat 
wid  fo'  drops  ob  dis  hoof  oil  I  kin  conquer  de  worl'." 

He  turned  again  to  the  Mud  Turtle.  The  Pull 
man  blanket  lashed  around  the  Mud  Turtle  cramped 
his  style  to  a:  considerable  degree,  but  for  all  of  his 
impedimenta  he  was  still  active  enough  to  threaten 
the  peace-on-earth  theory.  The  Wildcat  spoke  to 
him,  "Boy,  I  sequesters  you  till  de  debbil  leaves  you. 
Mebbe  by  de  time  us  gits  to  San  F'mcisco  you'll  be 
human  again." 


LADY    LUCK  151 

He  stepped  into  the  passage  way,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  open  section  of  the  car  he  opened  the  door  of 
the  linen  closet.  He  returned  to  the  smoking  room 
and  dragged  the  Mud  Turtle  out  of  the  room  where 
in  the  ruckus  had  been  staged.  At  the  door  of  the 
linen  closet  the  Wildcat  encountered  a  difficult  prob 
lem,  in  that  the  least  dimension  of  the  Mud  Turtle  in 
his  present  pose  was  greater  than  the  width  of  the 
door. 

He  grabbed  the  door  framing  with  both  hands 
and  applied  his  right  foot  to  the  Mud  Turtle's  anat 
omy.  "Whuf!  Git  in  dere!"  He  strained  hard 
at  his  task,  and  presently  a  heroic  effort  was  re 
warded  by  the  disappearance  of  the  Mud  Turtle  into 
the  dark  interior  of  the  linen  closet.  The  Wildcat 
stooped  down  and  removed  the  towel  from  about  the 
Mud  Turtle's  mouth.  "Yell  yo'  head  off,  ol'  deb- 
bil.  You  kain't  soun'  loud  in  heah.  Folks'll  think 
de  ol'  engine  is  whistlin'." 

Before  the  Wildcat  shut  the  door  the  Mud  Turtle 
took  advantage  of  his  vocal  freedom  and  emitted  a 
strenuous  howl.  A  middle-aged  gentleman  half 
way  down  the  car  stuck  his  head  through  the  berth 
curtains.  He  called  to  the  Wildcat.  "Is  she 
whistlin'  for  Ashland?" 

"No  suh.  'Spec'  it  was  a  cow  on  de  track  or 
sumpin'.  'At's  all.  I  wakes  you  up  neah  Ash- 
Ian'."  The  Wildcat  neglected  to  say  which  side  of 


152  LADY   LUCK 

Ashland  -would  be  selected  for  the  awakening  cere 
monies, 

He  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the  car,  and  on  his 
return  journey  he  accumulated  the  shoes  of  his  pas 
sengers. 

"I  shines  me  dese  heah  shoes  an*  den  I  sees  kin  I 
sleep  me  some.  I  bet  was  ol'  Mud  Turtle  a  aig, 
chances  is  he'd  hatch  out  in  dat  linen  closet — so  hot." 

In  the  smoking  compartment  the  Wildcat  spent 
an  hour  shining  shoes.  He  distributed  them  with 
more  or  less  accuracy,  and  presently  he  was  stretched 
oat  sound  asleep  on  the  long  leather  seat. 

"I  cats  when  I  kin  git  it, 

I  sleeps  mos'  all  de  time. 
I  don't  give  a  doggone 

If  the  sun  don't  neveh  shiae." 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  Wildcat  slept.until  the  first  grey  light  of 
dawn  announced  the  day.     He  got  up  and 
stretched  himself  and  drank  five  or  six  slugs 
of    free    ice    water.     "Lemme    see,"    he    yawned, 
"whah  at  is  us."     His  mind  covered  the  events  of 
his  immediate  past  and  collided  heavily  with  the 
battle  which  had  been  fought  in  the  night.     "Won- 
deh  how  ol'  Mud  Turtle  is?     I  betteh  git  him  fo'  de 
passengers  gets  up.     Wid  all  dat  hoof  oil  in  'im, 
'spec'  he'll  crave  mo'  wateh  dan  a  mule." 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  linen  closet.  In  the 
far  corner,  propped  against  the  wall,  sat  the  Mud 
Turtle.  The  dazed  expression  on  his  face  was  com 
pletely  surrounded  by  brunet  skin  and  surmounted 
by  a  pair  of  owl-like  eyes  whith  blinked  at  the  sudden 
light. 

The  Wildcat  whispered  at  him,  "Is  you  pacified? 
Dast  I  leave  you  loose?" 

The  Mud  Turtle  replied  with  a  question,  "Was 
many  folks  hurt  in  de  wreck?" 

"Ain't  been  no  wreck,  'ceptin'  you  like  to  wrecked 
me.  Come  out  heah  till  I  helps  you  'membeh  yo* 
sinful  past." 

iS3 


154  LADYLUCK 

He  hauled  the  Mud  Turtle  into  the  passage  way 
and  resurrected  him  from  the  interior  of  the  blanket 
cocoon. 

"Come  on  back  heah,"  the  Wildcat  directed. 
"Stretch  yo'  laigs  an'  come  on  back  heah  whilst  I 
'splains  about  you.  Take  'at  oP  coat  off  an'  put  on 
dis  white  coat." 

The  Mud  Turtle  removed  his  mud-caked  blue  coat 
and  donned  a  crisp  white  jacket.  For  a  while  he  sat 
quiet  on  the  leather  seat  of  the  smoking  car.  Finally 
he  turned  to  the  Wildcat. 

"All  I  'members  is  takin*  one  drink." 

"All  I  'members  pusson'ly  is  what  you  did  after 
you  took  'at  one  drink.  Thought  you  said  you  could 
handle  yo'  licker.  I  neveh  seed  such  a  wild  man. 
Boy,  you  started  single,  but  when  you  an'  'at  drink 
got  confidential  you  sho'  was  a'  army.  Handle  yo' 
licker!  Huh!  You  couldn'  handle  de  bottle,  let 
alone  what  was  in  it.  How  come  you  lie  such  a  big 
lie?  Start  out  gentle  nex'  time." 

"Must  a  bin  some  new  kin'  o'  licker." 

"Sho'  acted  new.  Wid  one  drink  like  dat  in  me 
when  I  was  fightin'  in  France,  de  ole  guv'ment 
wouldn't  need  no  mo'  soldiers.  I  seed  de  night  ob 
de  big  wind  what  blowed  New  Awl'uns. clean  up  de 
Mississippi  River.  I  know'd  a  mule  what  couldn't 
live  in  de  mountains  'count  o'  kickin'  'em  over,  but 


LADY   LUCK  155 

las'  night  when  you  was  goin'  good,  I  says,  'If  a  mule 
married  a  cyclone  an'  had  a  boy,  he'd  be  you.' 
'Hoof  oil,'.dey  calls  it.  'At  niggah  what  chefs  in  de 
dinin'  car  an  rabbis  when  he  lays  over  in  Oaklan' 
give  it  to  me." 

The  Mud  Turtle  looked  at  the  broken  window  be 
side  him.  "Did  I  bus'  'at  window*?" 

"Bust  'at  window — you  sho'  did.  All  you  did 
was  blow  yo'  breaf  at  it.  I  tell  you  you  was  bad. 
I's  seed  folks  what  was  plastered  wid  luck.  You 
thinks  you's  plastered  wid  mud,,  but  it  ain't  mud; 
it's  real  ol'  luck.  You  had  all  de  luck  in  de  worl' 
gettin'  out  ob  de  claws  ob  that  rabbi  juice.  Dat 
stuff  is  tiger  blood.  You  had  enough  wild  time 
las'  night  to  last  you  all  de  res'  ob  your  life  does 
you  live  fo'  evah." 

"Wilecat,  you  sounds  right.  When  us  gits  to 
Oaklan'  I  craves  to  settle  down.  Mebbe  I  shows 
you  a  business  I  aims  to  'vest  in." 

"You  don't  show  me  no  business,  boy.  Only 
business  I  craves  is  to  find  Lily  and  Lady  Luck. 
Lily's  ramblin'  loose  somewhere  in  San  F'mcisco  wid 
dem  Blue  Fezant  boys.  Does  I  meet  up  wid  dat 
goat  I'll  sho'  bust  him  in  de  haid  fo'  leavin'  me. 
Every  time  me  an'  Lily  gits  a  divo'ce  ol'  man  Hard 
Luck  camps  on  my  trail.  Business  sounds  good,  but 
me,  I  'cumulates  Lily  an'  den  I  takes  dem  Blue 


156  LADY    LUCK 

Fezant  boys  back  to  Chicago.  >Mebbe  when  I  comes 
back  heah  nex'  time  us  starts  some  business.  Not 
now.  Naw,  suh — not  me !" 

"Wilecat,  some  business  ain't  so  bad.  All  you 
does  is  set  dere  an'  take  in  de  money." 

"All  you  does  is  set  dere,  you  mean,  an'  listen* 
to  some  triflin'  niggah  wantin'  groceries  or  mebbe 
wantin'  to  eat  whilst  you  supplies  free  grub,  does 
you  run  a  restaurant.  Dem  boys  what  buys  easy 
never  is  got  money.  Naw,  suh,  I  don't  want  no 
business,  Mud  Turtle.  All  I  want  is  Lady  Luck  an* 
mah  mascot  goat." 

The  Mud  Turtle  continued  his  business  dream 
without  paying  much  attention  to  the  Wildcat's 
arguments.  "Dere's  de  anti-hair-kink  business;  all 
a  boy  does  is  buy  some  things  at  the  drugsto'  an'  mix 
'em  up  an'  sells  'em  at  fifty  cents  a  bottle.  All  de 
niggahs  in  de  worl'  craves  to  buy  anti-kink  juice. 
I's  seed  some  remedies  what  took  off  de  scalp  an' 
some  what  removes  de  brain,  but  it  don't  make  no 
diff'unce — niggahs  keep  on  buyin',  no  matteh  how! 
deep  de  remedy  digs  in." 

"Dat  business  is  ol',"  the  Wildcat  objected 
"Dat's  too  ol*  to  ketch  folks  any  mo'." 

"So's  kinky  hair  ol',"  answered  the  Mud  Turtle. 
"Dat  business  still  ketches  'em.  While  de  kinky 
hair  las',  so  does  de  anti-kink  business.  Dat  ain't 
de  only  business  I  knows.  You  an'  me  had  luck 


LADY   LUCK  157 

wid  fish — part  bad  luck  an'  part  good  luck.  Here's 
de  ocean  an'  here's  San  F'mcisco  bay  crowded  wid 
fish.  'Spose  us  gits  a  wagon  an'  some  hooks  fo' 
ketchin'  fish  an'  comes  home  eve'y  day  wid  a  wagon 
load." 

"Don'  say  fish  to  me,  boy !  All  de  bad  luck  I'se 
had  lately  come  f'm  fish.  See  kin  you  talk  'bout 
some  good-luck  business  does  yo'  crave  to.  Ah  ain't 
got  oveh  mah  fish  luck  yit." 

"How  'bout  de  boot-leggin'  business,  Wilecat4? 
Dey  sho'  is  big  money  in  dat." 

"Nobody  to  sell  to  no  mo'.  Eve'ybody's  boot- 
leggin'  now.  You  steps  up  to  a  man  on  de  street 
an'  says  'How  'bout  it1?'  an'  he  thinks  you's  tryin* 
to  buy.  Eve'ybody's  boot-leggin' !  See  kin  you 
think  ob  some  business  what's  got  some  customers, 
instead  ob  eve'ybody  runnin'  de  business  deyself. 
Naw,  suh,  I  aims  not  to  let  no  business  'flooence  me. 
I  rounds  me  up  Lily  an'  meets  up  wid  Lady  Luck, 
an'  someday  I  sees  oP  Cap'n  Jack  agin',  an'  den  I 
quits  worryin'.  What  I  craves  mos'  is  to  ketch  Lily 
an'  den  git  some  regulah  run  where  I  sleeps  mos'  all 
de  time.  'Less  I  fin's  mah  mascot  I  aims  to  quit  de 
whole  Pullman  business  an'  let  'em  git  on  de  bes' 
dey  can  widout  me." 

"Boy,  how  come  you  so  tame?  When  we  lef* 
Poteland  all  you  talked  about  was  startin'  a  sinful 
life  an'  bustin'  all  de  speed  records  on  de  road  to 


158  LADY   LUCK 

hell.     Now  all  you  craves  is  to  settle  down.     Has 
de  itch  got  you?     'Pears  like  you  needs  quinine." 

"I  don'  need  nuthin'  'ceptin'  Lily  an'  Lady  Luck 
— an'  mebbe  a  slug  o'  gin." 

"Cain't  git  no  gin  now  days." 

"Mud  Turtle,  when  us  gits  to  Oaklan'  you  follow 
me.  I'll  bet  dat  rabbi  boy  what  chefs  on  dis  train 
knows  whah  at  is  some  gin.  Any  man  what  kin 
throw  a  dose  ob  hoof  oil  together  on  short  notice 
what  makes  a  nigger  look  like  a  cyclone  sho'  can 
dig  up  a  drink  o'  gin.  Quick  as  us  gits  to  Oakland 
I  trails  'at  boy  down.  Chances  is  he  starts  de  rabbi 
business  soon  as  he  gits  his  apron  off.  I  depends 
on  him  fo'  gin.  I's  jined  up  wid  de  chu'ch  when 
I  was  sixteen,  but  now  I  aims  to  git  backslid  back 
enough  to  take  de  road  what  leads  into  dis  rabbi 
place.  You  goes  in  an'  takes  off  yo'  hat,  an'  as 
quick  as  you  gits  baptized,  the  ol'  preacheh  says, 
'Boys,  what'll  it  be*?'  I  says,  'Make  mine  gin.'  OF 
Mud  Turtle  say,  'Make  mine  gin.'  We  says  'at 
'bout  six  times,  an'  away  us  goes  lookin'  fo'  Lily. 
'At's  better'n  any  business  talk  you'se  talkin'." 

"I'll  say  so,  Wilecat — fo'get  de  business.  Us 
has  money,  anyhow.  There's  that  fo'  hund'ed 
dollahs  you  give  me  an'  whatever  you'se  got  left  off 
de  Spindlin'  Spider  boy  you  cleaned  in  Poteland.  I 
agrees  wid  you — fo'get  de  business." 

With  the  arrival  of  the  train  in  Oakland,  about 


LADY    LUCK  159 

four  minutes  sufficed  to  clear  up  the  Mud  Turtle's 
official  obligations  to  the  company.  Immediately 
thereafter  he  and  the  Wildcat  set  out  to  overtake 
the  dining  car  chef,  whom  they  had  seen  leaving  the 
terminal.  The  Wildcat  edged  up  beside  the  rabbi. 
"Boy,"  he  said,  "how  'bout  some  licker?  Me  an' 
the  Mud  Turtle  here  craves  to  git  baptized  wid  a 
couple  o'  slugs  o'  gin.  Is  de  gin  included  in  de  rabbi 
business1?" 

The  chef  looked  at  the  Wildcat.  "Us  rabbis 
handles  some  gin,  but  it  sho'  comes  high." 

"Boy,  us  aims  to  pay  high.  You  ain't  talkin'  to 
no  busted  steamboat  niggahs.  Us  ain't  fiel'  han's. 
Me  an'  my  podneh  got  money ;  all  we  craves  is  gin." 
The  chef's  gaze  left  the  Wildcat's  face  for  a  mo 
ment  and  seemed  to  travel  to  some  more  distant 
point.  The  Wildcat's  statement  of  his  finances  had 
aroused  the  rabbi's  cupidity.  "Come  on  heah,"  he 
said  briefly. 

The  three  made  their  way  up  town  and  presently 
entered  the  door  of  a  ramshackle  structure  standing 
midway  of  a  block  lined  by  similar  buildings.  They 
walked  into  a  darkened  room,  and  the  Wildcat  saw 
a  fresco  of  gleaming  white  eyeballs  ranged  about 
him. 

"Whah  at  is  us*?"  he  asked  the  rabbi. 
"Dis  heah's  de  Oaklan'  Pleasure  Club,  sort  of  a 
social  off-shot  f'm  de  chu'ch." 


160  LADY   LUCK 

"What  chu'ch?" 

"Chu'ch  is  called  Banded  Brothehs  ob  de  Loose 
Barrel  Hoop.  I  rabbis  fo'  dem  when  I's  in  town. 
When  I'se  away  dey's  got  another  boy  what  does 
de  rabbi  work." 

The  chef  turned  to  the  assemblage.  "Boys,  meet 
up  wid  de  Mud  Turtle.  I  'spec'  some  o'  you  all 
knows  him.  Dis  heah  other  boy  travels  under  de 
name  ob  de  Wilecat." 

A  voice  from  a  corner  of  the  room  bellered  into 
the  midst  of  the  assemblage.  "What'll  it  be,  boys? 
Dis  is  on  de  Wilecat." 

The  Wildcat  put  on  the  financial  brakes.  "How 
come"?" 

"Dis  heah's  de  initiation  drink.  Everybody 
what  joins  de  Banded  Brothehs  buys  a  drink  fo'  de 
congregation." 

The  Wildcat's  eyes  had  become  more  accustomed 
to  the  darkness.  "  Tears  like  I  gits  lifted  fo'  goin' 
on  fo'ty  drinks." 

Presently  half  a  dozen  bottles  were  mingling 
around  with  the  congregation,  and  the  Wildcat's 
words  to  the  Mud  Turtle  beside  him  were  drowned 
in  a  chorus  of  gurgling  throats.  The  gulping  ceased. 
Out  of  an  obscure  corner  of  the  room  came  the 
Auditor's  tones.  "Eighty-two  dollars.  Wilecat, 
pay  me  befo'  de  long  green  gits  wilted." 

The  Wildcat  was  no  piker,  but  the  bill  hit  him 


LADY   LUCK  161 

pretty  hard.  "Fs  seen  saloons  you  could  buy 
complete  fo'  half  de  money,"  he  remonstrated.  He 
walked  over  to  where  a  narrow  square  of  light 
broke  through  the  wall.  He  fished  out  a  big  roll 
of  bills  from  which  he  proceeded  to  count  ninety 
dollars.  He  replaced  the  money  in  his  pocket.  As 
he  did  so  a  yellow  electric  light  flashed  in  another 
part  of  the  room  and  burned  steadily  above  a  small 
table  upon  which  was  stretched  a  green  cloth.  A 
man  beside  the  table  called  to  the  newcomer. 
"Wilecat,  de  pleasure  part  ob  de  entertainment  now 
starts.  Now  you  gits  action." 

"How  come  action?     Action  what  wid?" 

"Action  wid  de  freckled  bones  what  knows 
'rithmetic." 

The  Wildcat  accepted  the  invitation.  Here  was 
a  chance  to  retrieve  the  price  of  the  drinks.  He 
walked  over  to  the  corner.  "Whah  at's  de  bones'?" 

In  allowing  his  opponent  to  supply  the  weapons 
he  had  committed  a  serious  technical  error,  but  the 
only  other  dice  in  the  crowd  were  the  taper  cubes 
belonging  to  the  Mud  Turtle,  and  the  Wildcat  knew 
that  the  production  of  these  dice  in  that  congregation 
would  probably  result  in  his  immediate  disintegra 
tion  under  the  blades  of  some  hungry  social  razors. 

The  boy  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  spoke. 
"Shoots  fifty  dollahs!" 

"You  sho'  starts  blooded."     The  Wildcat  peeled 


162  LADYLUCK 

fifty  dollars  from  his  roll.     "You'se  faded.     Roll 
'em." 

The  boy  rolled  them,  and  an  ace-dooce  bloomed 
under  the  electric  light. 

A  grunt  of  disappointment  went  up  from  several 
interested  veterans  of  the  Banded  Brothers  gathered 
around  the  table,  and  the  rabbi  plunged  his  way  into 
the  crowd.  He  used  a  few  words  not  commonly 
included  in  a  rabbi's  vocabulary.  "Git  out  o'  de 
way.  Gimme  dem  dice.  How  come  you  makes  dis 
mistake*?"  He  took  the  dice  from  the  loser. 
"Wilecat,  Ah  shoots  fifty  dollars !" 

The  Wildcat  divided  his  winnings  -and  laid  fifty 
dollars  on  the  table.  "Rabbi,  roll  'em." 

The  rabbi  breathed  a  fervent  prayer  upon  the 
speckled  cubes  and  cast  them  away  from  him  .into 
the  outer  darkness.  "Freckle  tops,  git  right! 
Bam!  I  reads  seven.  Lets  it  lav.  Shoots  a  hun- 
d'ed!" 

"Roll  'em,  you'se  faded."  The  Wildcat  trimmed 
himself  for  another  hundred. 

The  rabbi  made  another  throw.  "Luck  dice, 
ketch  dat  Wilecat.  Whuff !  An'  dey  says  five  an' 
a  six.  Dey  sho'  is  lucky." 

The  Wildcat  grunted.     "Lucky  fo'  you." 

"Pussonel  luck  is  de  luck  I  likes  best,"  the  rabbi 
returned.  "I  lets  it  lay.  You  has  yo'  chance. 
Shoots  two  hund'ed." 


LADY   LUCK  163 

The  Wildcat  skinned  his  roll  for  two  hundred 
dollars.  "Dese  heah  frog  skins  sho'  has  got  de  quick 
dwindles.  You'se  faded.  Roll  'em." 

The  rabbi  abandoned  his  ecclesiastical  lingo  and 
fell  into  the  vernacular.  "Tiger  dice,  claw  me! 
Turtle  dice,  off  de  log !  Soap  dice,  git  slick.  Clean 
dat  Wilecat.  Gun  dice,  pull  de  triggah — wham! 
An'  I  reads  six-ace." 

The  Wildcat's  fingers  began  to  itch  for  the  pos 
session  of  the  bones.  He  turned  to  the  Mud  Turtle, 
who  was  close  beside  him.  "Hot  dam,  boy,  dat  talk 
sho'  sounds  nat'chul!  Dat  boy  growed  up  some* 
place  else  befo'  he  started  de  rabbi  business." 

The  rabbi  raked  in  his  winnings.  He  slipped 
half  the  roll  and  laid  it  on  the  green  cloth.  "Shoots 
two  hund'ed.  Fade  me  is  you  reckless !" 

The  Wildcat  was  in  too  deep  to  back  out.  He 
pared  two  hundred  dollars  from  his  roll  and  laid 
it  beside  the  rabbi's  stake.  "Boy,  yo'  luck's  got  to 
bus'  sometime,  even  is  you  a  rabbi.  Roll  'em  an* 
see  kin  you  roll  to  de  po'  house." 

The  rabbi  spoke  confidentially  to  the  dice  for  a 
few  moments  and  then  his  voice  lifted,  above  the 
murmur  of  the  congregation.  "Snow  babies,  let  de 
soot  specs  read  -seven.  Rooster  dice,  crow  de  pay 
call !  Hen  dice,  hatch  de  money  eggs.  Mule  dice, 
kick  dat  boy  into  de  rivah !  Bam !  An'  I  reads  five- 
dooce." 


164  LADY   LUCK 

This  triumph  of  the  rabbi  was  a  signal  for  a  revolt 
on  the  part  of  the  Wildcat.  "I  quits.  I  craves  to 
handle  dem  bones  pussonal.  Does  you  own  'em 
all  de  time  I  quits." 

The  rabbi  handed  a  pair  of  dice  to  the  Wildcat. 
"Roll  'em  does  you  crave  to,"  he  said.  The  conces 
sion  was  made  only  after  he  had  switched  the  dice. 
The  Wildcat  got  hold  of  twin  dice  which  were 
loaded  to  come  out  dooce,  trey,  or  twelve  on  the 
first  throw.  He  warmed  the  dice  to  a  functioning 
temperature  in  the  palm  of  his  right  hand.  In  his 
left  he  held  the  remainder  of  his  roll.  He  laid  the 
money  on  the  centre  of  the  table.  "Shoots  it  all. 
Two  hund'ed  dollars.  Fade  me,  boy." 

The  rabbi  counted  out  two  hundred  dollars,  but 
before  the  Wildcat  threw  the  dice  the  Mud  Turtle 
beside  him  spoke  up.  "I  shoots  fo'  hund'ed  on  the 
Wildcat's  luck.  Shoot's  fo'  hund'ed.  Fade  me, 
boy." 

The  rabbi  grunted  and  dug  into  his  roll  for  an 
other  four  hundred. 

The  Wildcat  turned  to  the  Mud  Turtle.  "Boy, 
us  is  bust  does  I  lose !" 

"I  been  bust  befo',  Wilecat.  So  is  you.  Roll 
'em  see  kin  you  git  double  or  nuthin'." 

The  Wildcat  said  a  few  words  to  the  dice,  and 
an  instant  later  they  rattled  across  the  green  cloth. 
"Cyclone  babies,  blow  dat  rabbi  to  hell!  Whuff! 


LADY   LUCK  165 

An'  I  reads — ace-dooce.  Doggone,  Lady  Luck, 
whah  at  is  you?" 

The  Mud  Turtle  grabbed  the  Wildcat  by  the  arm. 
"Come  on  heah  befo'  dey  gits  yo'  clothes/* 

The  Wildcat  turned  away  from  the  table.  "Us 
sho*  needs  'at  mascot  goat.  Was  hard  luck  a  minny 
us  done  ketched  a  whale.  Trouble  wid  luck,  it's 
always  changin'.  Don'  stay  on  de  good  side  long 
enough  fo'  a  boy  to  git  settled  down."  He  bade 
farewell  to  the  rabbi.  "You  sho'  was  right.  I'll 
say  gin  comes  high.  Fo'  hund'ed  dollars  a  drink!" 

The  rabbi  laughed  a  hollow  laugh.  "Come  on 
back  sometime  an'  try  de  thousan'  doll  ah  gin  when 
you  feels  strongeh." 

"Does  I  find  Lily  an'  Lady  Luck  I  comes  back  an* 
shows  you  some  million-dollar  gin — mebbe." 

"On  your  way,  boy — at's  de  quinine  talkin'!" 


CHAPTER   XVI 

LAUNCHED  by  the  rabbi's  parting  taunt, 
the  Wildcat  and  the  Mud  Turtle  made  their 
way  out  of  the  ginagogue.     On  the  street 
the  Wildcat  set  the  course  toward  Twelfth  Street. 
His  companion  pounded  along  as  best  he  could  for 
a  while  and  then  voiced  a  protest.     "What  for  is 
you  got  such  a  hot  foot*?" 

"Come  on  heah,  oF  Mud  Turtle.  I  craves  to 
meet  up  wid  dat  Lily  goat  befo'  any  mo'  calamity 
ketches  up  wid  me." 

"Whah  you  spec'  to  fin'  dat  doggone  goat?" 
"San  F'mcisco  some  place.  Ah  tol'  you  once. 
De  Blue  Fezant  boys  went  to  San  F'mcisco  on  de 
train,  an'  de  las'  I  seed  ob  Lily  she  was  penned  up 
along  wid  'bout  nine  ob  dem  boys.  'At  goat's  in 
San  F'mcisco." 

4tHbw  long  you  spec'  it  take  you  to  fin'  'at  mascot 
in  San  F'mcisco?  You  know  how  big  'at  town 
is?" 

"Boy,  I  been  dere.  I  been  clear  from  downtown 
out  to  de  Presidio  whah  at  dey  keeps  de  ahmy  boys 
an'  de  gin'rals.  I  seed  'at  town  befo'." 

The    Mud    Turtle    grunted.     "You    ain't    seed 

166 


LADY    LUCK  167 

nuthin*.  'At  town's  ten  times  'at  big.  Was  Lily 
fo'  years  ol'  when  you  started  lookin'  she'd  be  eight 
hund'ed  fo'  you  foun'  her,  'less  you  had  luck." 

''Does  I  fin'  her  I  gits  all  de  luck  I  needs.  Us 
wins  bofe  ways,  'cause  all  de  bad  luck  I  could  git 
wouldn't  be  no  worse'n  what  us  has  now.  I'se  plum 
busted.  How  is  you?" 

The  Mud  Turtle  audited  the  depths  of  his  pocket. 
"Nuthin'  but  some  ravelin'  lint  an'  fo'  bits." 

"  'At's  enough.  Don'  look  so  mean,  ol'  Mud 
Turtle.  Does  us  see  another  rabbi  walkin'  down 
de  main  street  us  better  take  de  alley  fo'  he  sees  us. 
Dem  rabbi  boys  is  just  like  a  ticket  to  de  po'  house. 
Dem  ginagogue  gin  rabbis  is  de  wust  of  all." 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  pair  -landed  at  the  ferry 
building  in  San  Francisco.  As  a  precaution  against 
lunch  money,  they  saved  the  change  from  Mud 
Turtle's  half  dollar  and  walked  towards  the  centre 
of  the  town. 

They  landed  finally  in  Union  Square. 

The  Wildcat  flopped  down  on  the  grass,  and  the 
Mud  Turtle  joined  him.  "Mud  Turtle,  what's  dat 
big  house  oveh  there*?"  He  pointed  at  the  St. 
Francis  Hotel. 

"Boy,  thought  you  told  me  you  was  here  once 
befo'.  Dat's  de  St.  Frantic  Hotel." 

"How  come  de  boy  frantic  what  dey  named  de 
hotel  fo'?" 


168  LADY   LUCK 

'*  'Spec'  he  drunk  some  hoof  oil,  o'  mebbe  met  a 
gin  rabbi.  Sho'  is  a  fine  day." 

"All  de  days  I  seen  in  de  town  was  fine  days, 
'ceptin*  some  evenin's  when  de  fog  gits  heavy." 

"Or  fog  comes  in  mighty  handy  does  you  owe 
money.  Boy  kin  lose  hisself  f'm  a  bloodhoun'  easy 
in  de  fog." 

The  Wildcat  stretched  himself  out  and  prepared 
to  go  to  sleep,  but  before  he  had  accomplished  his 
purpose  he  was  interrupted  by  his  companion. 

"Wilecat,  look  at  dem  two  boys  on  de  hotel  steps. 
Dey  sho'  looks  like  dem  Blue  Fezant  Nobles  you 
was  speakin'  'bout." 

The  Wildcat  rose  to  his  knees  and  looked  across 
Powell  Street.  Sure  enough,  there  before  his  eyes 
stood  two  of  the  Blue  Fezant  gentlemen.  He  lost 
no  time  in  going  towards  them.  "Come  on  heah, 
Mud  Turtle!  I  knowed  we'd  meet  some  o'  dem 
Blue  Fezant  boys.  Come  on  heah!" 

A  moment  later  the  Wildcat  and  the  Mud  Turtle 
confronted  the  two  Nobles  of  the  Mysterious  Mecca. 
Each  of  the  nobles  was  festooned  with  a  golf  bag. 
The  pair  were  headed  for  Lincoln  Park.  The  Wild 
cat  spoke  to  the  larger  of  the  two  gentlemen. 
"Cap'n,  suh,"  he  said,  "I  was  de  po'tah  on  a  special 
car  f'm  Chicago  what  hauled  some  of  you  Blue  Fez 
ant  gen'men  out  heah.  Kin  you  tell  me  whah  at 
Lily  mah  mascot  goat  is?" 


LADY   LUCK  169 

The  Blue  Fezant  gentleman  looked  at  the  Wildcat 
for  a  moment.  "Seems  to  me  I  heard  about  that 
goat.  Some  of  the  boys  got  him  some  place." 

The  second  man  interposed  some  additional  in 
formation.  "You  mean  the  white  goat?  He's  out 
with  Jim  and  Frank  on  the  golf  links." 

The  first  Potent  Noble  turned  toward  the  Wild 
cat.  "He's  out  where  we're  going  now.  Come 
with  us  and  maybe  you'll  find  him.  Is  he  your 
goat?' 

"Cap'n,  suh,  you  sho'  soun'  good!  Does  I  meet 
up  wid  dat  Lily  I  beats  'at  goat  to  death — mebbe. 
Lily  sho'  is  mah  goat.  I  raised  him  clean  f'm 
France."  He  turned  to  his  companion.  "Mud 
Turtle,  take  'at.  bag  fo'  de  gen'men.  Cap'n,  suh, 
we  carry  dis  stuff." 

The  Potent  Nobles  smiled  at  each  other.  "These 
boys  can  caddy  for  us.  Do  you  boys  want  to  caddy 
for  us?" 

Without  knowing  exactly  what  it  was,  the  Wild 
cat  signed  quite  a  contract.  "Cap'n,  yessuh. 
Whatever  you  wants,  us  does.  How  come  dis  caddy 
business?" 

ICYou  carry  the  bag  around  while  we  go  golf  hunt 
ing." 

The  Wildcat  spoke  lowly  to  the  Mud  Turtle. 
"Golf  hunting?  What's  dis  heah  golfs?  Neveh 
seed  one  pussonally." 


170  LADY   LUCK 

"Boy,  3on't  you  know  what  golfs  is?  Sumpin' 
like  a  dog,  only  smaller.  Bom  wild.  Dey  gin' ally 
gits  wilder  when  dey  grows  up." 

"How  big  does  dey  git*?" 

"Dog  size — some  bigger,  sometimes.'* 

"Neveh  seed  none  in  Memphis." 

"Dey's  tame  down  dere ;  out  heah  dey  grows  wild. 
Some  parts,  de  wild  golfs  run  'roun'  so  thick  a  man 
hardly  kin  plough  his  fiel',  'thout  carryin'  six  or 
eight  shotguns  on  de  pl'ow.  Dis  country  was  'fested 
wid  golfs  till  de  Indians  got  heah." 

"  Tested  wid  Indians  till  white  folks  got  heah, 
too.  I  guess  could  de  Indians  kill  a  golf  us  is  safe." 

He  turned  to  one  of  the  Potent  Nobles.  "Cap'n, 
suh,  what  does  you  kill  dese  here  golfs  wid?" 

The  Noble  was  quick  to  take  up  the  deception. 
"We  beat  'em  to  death  with  those  ckibs.  If  you 
get  a  small  blue  golf,  you  beat  him  with  an  iron 
club.  For  the  savage  red  ones  you  use  that  club 
with  the  piece  of  brass  on  it.  The  whisky  golf  is 
the  worst,  though ;  he  sort  of  sneaks  up  on  you.  You 
use  those  little  clubs  for  them.  They're  called 
putters.  They're  shorter  so  you  can  use  'em  in 
close  places.  Short  and  deadly." 

The  quartette  were  presently  seated  in  an  automo 
bile  which  was  retrieved  from  Powell  Street.  On 
the  way  to  the  Lincoln  Park  golf  course  the  party«de- 
toured  through  Golden  Gate  Park.  The  car  drove 


LADY   LUCK  171 

past  the  enclosure  wherein  leaped  a  dozen  full 
grown  kangaroos.  One  of  the  Potent  Nobles 
pointed  to  the  awkward  animals.  "There's  some 
golfs  now  if  you  boys  never  seen  any." 

A  restless  kangaroo  made  a  thirty-foot  leap. 
"Lawd  Gawd,  Cap'n,  does  you  kill  dem  debbils  wid 
clubs'?  I  craves  a  cannon  an'  forty  miles'  range,  or 
else  one  o'  them  airplane  flyin'  things." 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  stand  right  close  behind 
me  and  you'll  be  safe." 

The  Wildcat's  training  had  taught  him  to  trust 
the  word  of  a  white  man.  "Cap'n,  yes,  suh."  As 
far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  conversation  was  ended, 
but  in  spite  of  the  Potent  Noble's  reassuring  words, 
a  feeling  of  uneasiness  seemed  to  undermine  him. 

At  the  hunting  preserves  in  Lincoln  Park  it  be 
came  evident  that  luck  was  not  with  the  two  golf- 
killing  Nobles  of  the  Mysterious  Mecca,  because 
about  all  these  two  gentlemen  did  was  to  continue 
the  monotonous  business  of  knocking  a  couple  of 
innocent  looking  white  balls  across  the  landscape. 
Every  now  and  then  they  would  come  upon  a  grass 
lawn  with  an  iron  cup  in  the  centre  of  it,  and  then 
each  Potent  Noble  would  waste  a  lot  of  time  urging 
his  ball  into  the  cup  with  the  short  and  deadly 
putter  which  was  normally  used  for  slaughtering 
whisky  golfs  which  sneaked  up  on  you. 

After  the  first  mile  or  two  the  zest  of  the  chase  was 


172  LADY   LUCK 

dulled  by  the  Wildcat's  habitual  languor.  He 
edged  over  towards  the  Mud  Turtle.  "Mud  Turtle* 
'spec'  dese  gen'men  gwine  to  give  us  fo'  bits,  mebbe, 
fo'  he'pin  'em  hunt  dese  golfs  what  we  ain't  seed. 
Ah  feels  dismal.  Every  time  dey  shoots  'at  ball, 
s'posin'  you  an'  me  shoots  ten  cents'?" 

"Jriow  come,  Wilecat*?  You  knows  us  cain't 
monkey  wid  dis  huntin'  game." 

"I  don't  mean  monkey  wid  de  huntin',"  the  Wild 
cat  returned.  "Is  you  got  a  lead  pencil*?  'Sposin' 
us  marks  de  li'l  white  balls  wid  de  dice  freckles  an'' 
reads  'em  when  dey  drops.  Fust  you  take  one  time, 
den  I  takes  anotheh.  Us  plays  some  mountain  dom 
inoes.  Got  to  do  sumpin',  else  us  goes  to  sleep. 
Den  like  as  not  some  ragin'  golf  sneak  up  an'  eat  yo* 
innards  fo'  you  has  a  chance  to  wake  up.  Le's  try 
shootin'  some  sevens  at  de  scenery." 

Action  followed  the  Wildcat's  words,  and  pres 
ently  the  two  golf  balls  then  in  use  were  marked 
with  a  pattern  of  black  dots  running  from  the  gentle 
ace  to  the  belligerent  six  spot.  Thereafter  the  two 
Potent  Nobles  had  reason  to  wonder  at  the  sudden 
industry  exhibited  by  their  caddies,  who  leaped  after 
each  ball  almost  before  the  club  had  touched  it. 

"Bam!  Look  at  that  boy  go,  Jim!  I  wish  we 
could  get  caddies  like  that  in  Chicago;  the  lazy 
devils  never  would  go  after  a  ball.  These  fellows 
are  bears." 


LADY   LUCK  173 

"They're  all  good, — the  best  caddies  I  ever  had 
were  niggers  in  the  south, — after  you  get  'em  woke 
up,  that  is." 

Meanwhile,  out  at  the  destination  of  the  golf  ball 
the  Wildcat  and  the  Mud  Turtle  were  inspecting  it 
where  it  lay.  "Three  up."  The  pair  raced  to  the 
point  where  the  other  ball  had  fallen.  "She  reads 
fo'.  Fo'  an'  three  is  seven.  Wilecat,  doggone  you, 
you  wins  again." 

"Sho'  I  wins !  Didn'  dem  Blue  Fezant  boys  say 
dis  heah  mascot  goat  ob  mine  was  roustin'  roun'  out 
heah?  Whaheveh  dat  goat  is,  so  is  Lady  Luck. 
Fo'  long  I  meets  up  wid  Lily,  an'  den  I  shows  you 
some  winnin'  what  is." 

The  two  Potent  Nobles  holed  out  at  the  ninth, 
and  the  party  crossed  the  road  under  the  trees  to  the 
tenth  tee.  "Cap'n,  suh,"  the  Wildcat  asked, 
"what's  'at  rook  oveh  dah,  widout  no  roof  an'  de  rock 
wailr' 

The  Potent  Noble  looked  over  at  the  Chinese 
tomb.  "That's  where  some  Chinaman  is  buried," 
he  said.  "That's  a  Chinese  tomb." 

"Tomb!     Some  dead  boy  tayin'  in  it?" 

"I'll  say  so — maybe  a  dozen  of  'em.  This  whole 
golf  pasture  is  built  over  a  graveyard." 

The  Wildcat  stiffened  and  looked  at  the  Mud 
Turtle.  "Lawd  Gawd,  Mud  Turtle!  Us  cravin' 
to  meet  Lady  Luck  an'  walkin'  'roun'  in  a  graveyard ! 


174  LADY   LUCK 

Sho'  makes  me  dwindle  up  inside !  No  wondeh  dem 
man-eatin'  golfs  is  so  ragin'  out  heah.  Wish  I  could 
fin'  dat  doggone  Lily  Goat."  He  turned  to  one  of 
the  Potent  Nobles.  "Ain't  we  startin'  down  town, 
Cap'n,  fo'  it  gits  dark?" 

"It'll   be   two   hours   yet  before   it   gets   dark. 
We've  got  time  to  hunt  another  golf  or  two.     Shut 
up  while  I  drive." 
"Cap'n,  yessuh." 

At  the  sixteenth  tee  the  Potent  Noble  looked 
down  at  the  heavy  fog  which  was  rolling  in  through 
the  Golden  Gate.     He  addressed  the  balk     He  jum 
bled  around  on  his  feet  and  took  a  couple  of  practice 
swings.    Perfection  was  in  every  movement.    Then, 
as  he  drove,  the  Wildcat  sneezed.    There  followed  a 
blast  of  profanity  whose  equal  the  Wildcat  had  not 
heard  since  his  army  days.     He  edged  over  towards 
the  Mud  Turtle.     "Neveh  seed  a  boy  change  so 
quick.     Heah  he  is,  pleasant  one  minnit,  an'  den  he 
hits  dat  ball  an'  goes  hog  wild.     Seems  like — " 
He  was  interrupted  by  the  Potent  Noble,  who  had 
calmed  down.     "Git  the  hell  out  in  the  rough  there 
and  find  that  ball  I  sliced." 

"Yes,  suh."  The  Wildcat  started  out  through 
the  fog  to  find  the  freckled  white  sphere.  He 
threshed  around  in  the  trees  and  underbrush  for  a 
while,  and  then  to  his  mind  came  a  memory  of  the 
horrible  words  which  the  Potent  Noble  had  spoken. 


LADY   LUCK  175 

"This  place  was  a  graveyard !"  The  Wildcat  shud 
dered  extensively  and  abandoned  the  search  for  the 
golf  ball. 

He  looked  up,  and  there  before  him  was  a  tomb 
stone  ! 

"Lawd  Gawd,  Lady  Luck,  whah  is  you1?"  Auto 
matically  his  feet  began  to  work,  and  they  were  aided 
an  instant  later  by  his  racing  legs.  He  went  away 
from  there  through  the  fog.  The  next  thing  he 
knew,  he  had  made  a  forty-foot  dive  over  a  sand 
bank.  He  rolled  for  a  moment  in  the  shifting  sand 
before  he  brought  up  against  a  stunted  cedar. 

"Whah  at  is  I?" 

The  fog  cleared,  and  the  Wildcat  saw  the  sand 
dunes  stretching  below  him.  At  the  edge  of  the 
slope  were  the  waves  of  the  Golden  Gate.  Then 
the  fog  closed  in  again,  and  everything  about  him 
faded  out  of  the  picture.  Above  his  head,  out  of 
the  drifting  fog,  a  flight  of  sea  gulls  started  a  little 
gossip.  To  the  Wildcat's  ears  came  their  shrieking 
remarks.  He  stopped  his  wild  shuddering  and 
began  to  moan. 

"  'At's  dem  ghost  boys !  I  know  'em !  Lady 
Luck,  take  dem  boys  away.  I  ain't  talkin'  wid  no 
ghosts."  He  turned  and  started  up  the  bank.  He 
began  throwing  sand  out  from  under  his  feet  like  a 
record-busting  rotary  snow  plough.  His  legs  ran  for 
ten  minutes,  but  his  wind  was  crippled,  and  in  the 


176  LADY   LUCK 

shifting  sand  he  covered  a  space  .of  less  than  twenty 
feet.  Exhausted  with  his  effort,  he  flopped  down 
on  the  sloping  bank.  "Dey'.s  got  me,"  he  moaned, 
"dey's  got  me!  I  knowed  it.  I  knowed  dem 
graveyard  ghosts  would  git  me,  once  I  gits  divo'ced 
f'urri  dat  mascot  goat.  Lady  Luck,  here  I  is!" 
The  Wildcat  curled  up  and  covered  his  head  with 
his  arms. 

He  lay  in  repose  for  less  than  ten  seconds;  for 
suddenly,  out  of  the  fog  in  mid  channel,  came  the 
booming  siren  whistle  of  a  liner,  heading  out  of  the 
Golden  Gate.  "Whoom!  Wha-om!" 

,The  Wildcat  moaned.  "I  heahs  you,  Gabriel, 
I  heahs  you !  Heah  I  is,  Lawd — heah  I  is," 

' '  Whooom !     We-ow-oom ! ' ' 

"It's  me.  It's  ol'  Wilecat.  What  fo'  you 
askin'  who?  You  knows  who!  Ghosts  got  me, 
Gabriel!  Here  I  is!  Lady  Luck — Good-bye!*' 

Then  from  Fort  Miley  crashed  the  report  of  the 
evening  gun  that  marked  retreat,  and  a  moment  later 
the  clear  notes  of  a  bugle  floated  out  of  the  fog. 
For  a  moment  life  on  earth  again  claimed  the  Wild 
cat,  and  instinctively  he  responded  to  his  army  train 
ing.  He  got  to  his  feet  and  stood  rigidly  at  atten 
tion.  Into  the  fog  to  an  unseen  company  he  yelled 
a  series  of  commands.  "Come  to  'tenshun!  Si 
lence  in  de  ranks!  Shut  up  an'  stan'  up!  'Ten- 


LADY   LUCK  177 

shun!  Lily,  come  to  'tenshun!  Cap'n  Jack,  suh, 
de  company  is  fo'med." 

He  saluted  and  made  an  about-face  as  perfectly 
as  he  could  in  the  shifting  sand  beneath  his  feet. 

As  he  did  so  he  felt  his  brain  rattle.  Ten  feet 
above  him,  tangible  as  iron,  real  as  gold,  festooned 
with  hair  and  horns,  stood  Lily  the  mascot  goat. 

The  Wildcat  stood  fixed  for  an  instant  looking 
with  incredulous  eyes  at  the  mascot.  Then  he 
made  an  excess  demand  on  the  motor  muscles  of  his 
legs,  and  in  six  wild  leaps  he  had  gained  the  goat's 
side. 

"Lily,  is  you  back?  Goat,  hot  dam!  Lady 
Luck  sho'  heard  me!"  The  Wildcat  grabbed  the 
leading  string  which  dangled  from  the  mascot's 
neck.  "Come  heah — I  aims  to  git  me  some  han'- 
cuffs  an'  lock  one  end  'roun  yo'  neck  an'  de  otheh 
roun'  mah  laig.  Goat,  us  sho'  is  proud  to  meet  up 
wid  you !  Does  you  leave  me  once  mo'  nex'  time  I 
knocks  yo'  hawns  down  yo'  throat." 

Lily  evidently  approved  the  arrangement.  She 
looked  at  the  Wildcat,  and  then  from  her  skinny 
throat  a  faint  bleat  sounded. 

"Say  dat  again!     You  sounds  noble!" 

"Blaaa,"  answered  Lily. 

The  Wildcat  looked  around  him.  His  fear  of 
the  shrieking  ghostly  voices  from  the  sky  overhead 


178  LADY   LUCK 

had  melted  into  the  fog.  No  longer  did  the  howl 
ing  devils  of  mid  channel  disturb  him.  No  longer 
did  he  fear  the  raging  golf.  With  his  mascot  goat 
at  his  side,  no  evil  luck  could  touch  him.  Courage 
returned,  and  with  it  extravagant  language.  "Lily, 
no  doggone  ghos'  better  git  uppity  wid  me.  I'd 
bus'  a  ol*  ghos'  in  de  haid  did  I  ketch  one." 

With  Lily  beside  him,  he  gained  the  level  ground 
of  the  fairway.  Then,  over  a  wide  expanse  of  golf 
links,  the  fog  had  lifted  clear.  The  Wildcat  saw 
the  two  Blue  Fezant  Nobles  poking  around  near  the 
Chinese  tomb  in  search  of  the  ball  which  had  been 
lost  a  little  while  before. 

"Come  on  heah,  Lily."  He  dragged  the  mascot 
to  the  Chinese  tomb,  near  which  the  Mud  Turtle  was 
halted. 

"Ain't  you  foun'  'at  little  white  ball  yit,  Mud 
Turtle?" 

"Not  me,  Wilecat.  Dat  ball  landed  inside  dis 
heah  graveyard  tomb.  You  don't  git  me  in  dere  fo' 
a  million  dollahs.  What's  'at!  You  foun'  yo' 
goat!" 

"Boy,  out  o'  mah  way!"  The  Wildcat,  walked 
toward  the  Chinese  tomb  as  fast  as  Lily  could  cover 
the  ground.  "Git  out  o'  mah  way.  Me  an'  Lily 
looks  in  dat  tomb  place.  Us  ain't  scared  o'  no  ol' 
ghosts  no  mo'." 

One  of  the  Blue  Fezant  gentleman  called  to  the 


LADY   LUCK  179 

Wildcat.     "Son,   where  in  hell  have  you  been?" 

Something  in  the  Potent  Noble's  tone  made  the 
Wildcat  think  of  Captain  Jack  and  the  gone-away 
days  in  France.  "Cap'n,  suh,  no  place.  I  was  jes' 
'cumulatin'  mah  mascot  goat." 

He  entered  the  roofless  Chinese  tomb,  and  there 
on  the  stone  floor  lay  the  golf  ball.  "Cap'n,  suh," 
he  yelled,  "heah's  yo'  freckled  pill."  He  called 
less  loudly  to  the  Mud  Turtle.  "Otheh  ball  read 
three.  Dis  one  heah's  got  de  fo'  spot  up.  'At's 
seven !  Mud  Turtle,  you  loses.  'Come  in  heah  an* 
look  at  it." 

The  Mud  Turtle's  dread  of  the  Chinese  tomb  was 
still  with  him.  "I  'cepts  yo'  word  fo'  it,  Wilecat. 
Doggone  you.  Boy,  you  wins  fo'  times  runnin'." 

"Boy,  f'm  now  on  I  wins  steady.  Lady  Luck 
done  sent  back  mah  mascot  goat.  I  cain't  lose !" 

He  turned  to  his  four-legged  companion.  "Kin 
us,  Lily,  whilst  you's  wid  me1?" 

"Blaaa!"   answered  Lily.     "I  should  say  not." 


CHAPTER   XVII 


"Lead  me  to  de  woods  whah  de  luck  trees  grow, 
Han'  me  de  axe  when  it's  time  to  chop. 
Lead  me  kinda  gentle, — git  me  started  slow; 
When  I  gits  to  goin',  watch  de  luck  trees  drop." 

"IT  "IT   THILE  the  Wildcat  was  doing  his  best 
%/% /     to  forget  the  cares  that  nominally  in- 
V      T        fested  his  official  day  as  porter  on  the 
Blue  Fezant  special  car,  sidetracked  in  San  Fran 
cisco,  Honey  Tone  Boone,  the  brunet  uplifteh,  lan 
guished  in  the  Memphis  jail. 

There  were  two  sides  to  every  jail.  To  the  Wild 
cat,  the  loser  in  the  law's  game  generally  occupied 
the  inside.  Honey  Tone  was  different.  The  inside 
of  a  jail  for  Honey  Tone  was  often  a  place  of  sanc 
tuary  from  which  the  occupant  might  sneer  serenely 
at  the  disappointed  female  perils  who  gnashed  their 
teeth  outside  the  bars. 

In  San  Francisco  the  days  were  warm,  and  Lily 

the  mascot  goat  had  returned  to  her  master's  side. 

The  Wildcat  was  playing  even  in  the  matter  of 

Haily  rations.     Trailing  along  in  the  wake  of  a 

180 


LADY   LUCK  181 

pair  of  the  golf-playing  Nobles  of  the  Mysterious 
Mecca  at  the  Lincoln  Park  Golf  course  provided  a 
cash  surplus  which  enabled  the  Wildcat  to  discard 
his  winter-weight  Prince  Albert  and  to  adorn  his 
person  with  a  retiring  suit  of  clothes  three  shades 
lighter  than  a  sunburned  pumpkin  and  embellished 
with  six-inch  checks.  Life  wasn't  so  bad.  OP  rail 
road  sleepin'  car  was  probably  doin'  all  right. 
Reasonably  sure  that  tomorrow  would  lug  in  new 
brands  of  trouble  to  pester  a  boy  with,  the  Wildcat 
steered  his  somnolent  mentality  clear  of  the  shoals 
of  surmise  and  let  tomorrow  take  care  of  itself. 

A  boy  never  could  tell  about  Lady  Luck.  Every 
time  the  Wildcat  did  something  that  clearly  en 
titled  him  to  free  board  in  some  permanent  jail, 
like  as  not  next  day  he  would  wake  up  all  festooned 
with  gold  watches.  Take  a  preacher's  advice  and 
head  down  the  straight  and  narrow  path,  and  the 
chances  were  that  some  deppity  sherriff  with  a  shot 
gun,  or  else  a  bear,  would  be  waiting  in  the  path 
right  where  the  heaviest  canebrakes  discouraged 
detours. 


"One  man's  pizen  is  anotheh  man's  meat,-— 
Mah  troubles  neveh  botheh  you. 
Hog  needs  wings  like  a  snake  needs  feet: 
De  question  ain't  why,  but  who." 


182  LADY   LUCK 

Honey  Tone  Boone's  downfall  had  been  accom 
plished  in  Memphis  immediately  subsequent  to  a 
Konk'rin'  Heroes'  parade.  There  had  been  some 
talk  about  the  ownership  of  the  mule  which  Honey 
Tone  rode.  The  line  of  march  headed  straight  for 
Honey  Tone's  wife  and  his  potential  soul  mate  and 
culminated  in  a  ruckus  from  which  Honey  Tone 
emerged,  safe  in  the  talons  of  a  policeman.  The 
two  women,  comparing  notes,  had  gummed  up  the 
leader's  grand  entry  to  a  degree  which  left  Honey 
,Tone  thankful  for  the  mule-stealing  charge  that  had 
landed  him  safe  in  the  jail  and  out  of  the  clutches 
of  his  wife  and  Cuspidora  Lee.  He  enjoyed  sanc 
tuary  in  jail  for  two  months  and  then,  threatened 
with  an  embarrassing  and  abrupt  .release,  he  con 
centrated  on  a  hurried  mental  incubation.  Hard 
pressed,  he  sought  to  hatch  from  the  bad  egg  of  cir 
cumstance  some  new  enterprise  which  would  take 
him  away,  sudden  and  safe,  from  where  his  mem 
orizing  wife  awaited  him. 

His  mind  roamed  wild  through  the  fields  of  ques 
tionable  enterprises  opened  to  him  by  a  combination 
of  easy  conscience  and  the  flashy  part  of  a  "college" 
education.  On  the  day  of  his  release  he  half  re 
gretted  his  education.  Ignorance  cursed  the  in 
dividual  with  work,  but  it  left  him  free  of  the  higher 
responsibilities  and  the  more  acute  penalties  of 
transgressions,  and  just  then  Honey  Tone  wished  de- 


LADY    LUCK  183 

voutly  that  he  was  a  field  hand.  He  craved  a  black 
complexion  instead  of  the  halfway  colour  that 
barred  him  from  the  unquestioning  comradeship  of 
white  and  black  alike. 

On  the  night  of  his  release  from  jail  he  beat  the 
barrier,  and  by  morning  he  was  well  on  his  way  to 
St.  Louis,  resolved  to  explore  the  Pacific  coast  for 
fields  wherein  his  peculiar  abilities  might  enable 
him  to  reap  the  harvest  of  cash  without  which  life 
to  him  was  naught. 

En  route  West,  Honey  Tone  managed  to  keep  one 
state  ahead  of  his  reputation.  Thus  he  avoided  the 
iron  impedimenta  which  the  laws  of  the  land  drape 
around  the  ankles  and  feet  that  stray  from  the 
straight  and  narrow  trail — around  wrists  and  hands 
whose  idleness  affords  the  devil  welcome  opportu 
nity  to  function  as  a  labour  agent. 

Honey  Tone's  first  week  in  Oakland  found  him 
preaching  to  a  small  congregation.  On.  the  follow 
ing  Sunday  he  announced  to  his  flock  that  subscrip 
tions  for  a  church  building  fund  would  be  accepted, 
beginning  forthwith. 

"Temp'rary  an'  perm'nent."  The  announcement 
followed  a  long  prayer  during  which  the  uplifter's 
face  wore  the  same  holy  expression  as  that  which 
adorns  the  first  stages  of  a  sneeze.  "Rev'und" 
Honey  Tone  Boone  opened  his  eyes  and  tamed  his 
vocabulary  to  the  vernacular  current  among  his 


184  LADY   LUCK 

hearers.  "Temp'rary  an*  perm'nent.  Weekly  re- 
fun's  on  all  temp'rary  subscriptions,  togetheh  with 
int'res'  at  a  hund'ed  per  cent.  You  doubles  yo* 
Vestment,  like  de  boy  wid  de  ten  talents." 

The  dangling  bait  was  presently  engulfed. 

The  subscription  books  were  kept  open  through 
out  the  week.  Facilities  for  subscribing  were 
offered  through  agencies  established  in  the  pastor's 
quarters,  in  two  barber  shops  and  three  pool  rooms. 

On  the  following  Sunday,  after  a  service  devoted 
largely  to  discussion  of  temporal  problems  which 
afflict  the  flesh  here  in  this  vale  of  tears,  Honey  Tone 
paid  his  subscribers  their  original  contributions  and 
added  an  equal  sum  for  interest  at  a  hund'ed  per 
cent. 

The  books  were  flooded  with  new  subscriptions 
within  the  next  fifteen  minutes.  The  six  agencies 
did  a  rushing  business  all  during  the  week.  On 
Friday  Honey  Tone  counted  his  cash  and  decided 
that  another  week  could  be  managed.  Then — exit. 

After  the  next  Sunday  services,  owing  to  an  eight 
that  looked  like  a  three,  he  was  short  five  hundred 
dollars  in  the  item  of  interest. 

Explanations  led  to  retreat,  and  Honey  Tone  re 
treated  to  a  hotel  in  San  Francisco.  His  flight 
therefrom  was  interrupted  by  a  delegation  from  a 
mob  which  visited  him  on  the  following  night.  He 
beat  the  delegation  out  of  the  lobby  of  the  hotel 


LADY   LUCK  185 

because,  in  the  emergency,  his  feet  acted  more 
quickly  than  his  head.  He  went  away  from  there 
leading  his  flock. 

Mentally  he  shipped  his  remains  to  his  next  of 
kin  four  times  in  the  next  fifty  yards.  Out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye  he  caught  the  gleam  of  a  piece  of 
light-coloured  steel  swung  by  a  dark-coloured  inves 
tor  who  craved  to  collect  his  investment,  plus  inter 
est,  one  way  or  another. 

Honey  Tone's  racing  legs,  impelled  by  an  acute 
ambition,  functioned  successfully  in  their  owner's 
single  endeavour  to  lead  the  flying  wedge  of  razor- 
bearing  blood  hunters  by  at  least  two  jumps  more 
than  a  slashin'  reach.  The  fugitive  turned  into 
Mission  Street ;  and  here  in  the  long  stretch  the  sad 
dle-coloured  financier  saw  a  chance  to  do  some  think 
ing.  Galloping  was  his  main  business  just  then, 
but  he  carried  a  side  line  of  quick  thoughts. 

With  members  of  his  own  race  Honey  Tone  asked 
no  greater  odds  in  the  money  game  than  those  which 
served  from  the  theory  that  mind  was  superior  to 
matter.  But  in  this,  too,  time  was  the  essence. 
Just  then  he  needed  time.  Ten  minutes  were  worth 
a  million  dollars  and  lots  of  other  important  things 
like  health  and  strength  and  blood.  Time  was  that 
without  which  the  best  laid  plans  died  in  the  egg. 

For  the  next  five  blocks,  running  something  less 
than  a  mile  a  minute,  the  uplifter's  brain  functioned 


i86  LADY   LUCK 

with  the  cunning  which  enables  the  fragrant  fox  to 
overcome  the  handicap  with  which  nature  has 
equipped  him,  when  the  hounds  begin  the  cross  coun 
try  obesity  cure.  During  this  time  a  plan  had  flow 
ered  in  Honey  Tone's  brain  whereby  victory  might 
be  snatched  from  what  had  looked  like  a  total  loss  of 
all  the  blood  that  would  run  out  of  where  a  razor 
had  nestled. 

In  a  shadowed  area  midway  between  two  street 
lights  Honey  Tone  stopped.  He  stopped  abruptly, 
like  a  golf  ball  hitting  the  north  side  of  Gibraltar. 
He  bounced  back,  absorbing  his  momentum  in  a 
twisting  motion  which  left  him  squarely  facing  the 
oncoming  pack.  Now  it  was,  or  never ! 

When  they  were  upon  him  he  raised  his  arms. 

He  orated.  "Hush!  Git  calm!  Now  us  kin 
talk!  Money!  Cash!  Rest  easy!" 

His  voice  lifted  one  notch  higher  than  the  under 
tone  which  welled  about  him.  The  peak  load  of 
peril  was  confronted  and  passed,  but  still  his  speech 
ranged  over  the  bait  words  most  potent  as*  verbal 
sedatives.  "Easy  money — lissen — gin — seven  dice 
— fancy  clothes — chicken  an'  gin  fo'  one  an'  all  soo- 
preem  members-." 

He  discarded  his  college-bred  dialect  and  adopted 
the  vernacular  of  the  majority  about  him.  "Lissen 
heavy!  Git  calm.  Len'  me  yo'  ears.  Men  an* 
brethren,  you  knows  me.  Fo'gettin'  de  peril  o'  de 


LADY   LUCK  187 

tar  bar'l  an'  de  p'cessions  at  night  wid  blazin'  pitch 
knots  an'  de  chokin'  rope  whut  folks  uses  when  dey 
uprises,  an'  chosin'  fo'  ouah  guide  de  lives  ob  de  ol'- 
time  martyrs,  safe  an'  serene  in  de  circle  ob  fate  cast 
'roun'  mah  fragile  form  by  dis  ye  re  rabbit's  foot — Ah 
tells  you — lissen !" 

The  speaker  waved  his  rabbit's  foot.  He  beck 
oned  at  the  loose  fringe  of  sceptics  which  milled  on 
the  margin  of  the  group.  "Gether  together,  dat  ye 
can  hear  de  words  ob  wisdom.  De  prophet  knowed 
whut  he  said  when  he  perdicted  dat  somebody  was 
comin'  to  lead  his  chillun  f'm  darkness  into  light. 
'At's  me !  Somebody.  I  leads  you  out  ob  darkness 
into  de  promised  Ian'  whah  flows  de  milk  an'  honey. 
In  passin'  lemme  add  dat  milk  is  f'm  de  ol'  language 
used  by  de  Sanskrits,  meanin'  gin.  Honey  f'm  de 
ancient  Check^Slowfat  word  'Honito/  D'at's 
de  word  fo'  chicken — fried  chicken,  to  be  mo'  pre- 
ciser.  .  .  .  Men,  you  is  sons  ob  Kings  f'm  Africa. 
How  come  you  all  redoosted  to  de  state  ob  slaves'? 
How  come  bird  shot  cain't  pester  a  cinnamon  bear? 
Because  yo'  brains  and  yo'  brawns  is  all  spread  out, 
desiccated  on  triflin'  things  like  cotton  crops  an* 
cawn,  sweatin'  undeh  heavy  loads  'stid  of  rulin'  at 
de  seat  of  guv'ment  an'  dictatin'  whut's  whut." 

The  orator  dragged  in  another  lungful  of  mid 
night  fog  and  broke  into  the  stretch.  "Heah's  de 
answeri,  graved  on  de  gol'  tablets  an'  dug  up  in  de 


i88  LADY   LUCK 

midnight  moon  wid  a  luck  spade.  Gran'  oaks  f'm 
li'l  acorns  grow.  Heah  in  San  F'mcisco  wid  de  aid 
of  you  all  we  starts  de  new  movement  towards  de 
Canaan  land.  Fust  off,  us  o'ganizes  de  Temple  o' 
Luck.  Den  de  fust  annex  is  de  Swamick  Chu'ch, 
based  on  de  mystic  teachin'  of  Swami  de  Indian 
Budda.  Nex'  do'  in  de  Temple  de  Soopreem  Faith 
Healer  thrives  an'  collects  money  f'm  folks  whut 
only  thinks  dey's  sick.  'Cross  de  hall  is  de  Chief 
Palm  Readin'  MJagi,  predictin'  pas',  present,  an* 
future  fo'  a  dollah.  In  de  Temple  Annex  is  de 
offices  ob  de  'Filiated  Culled  Union  ob  de  worl'.; 
Dis  Union  is  mitigated  into  th'ee  gran'  divisions — 
de  Bullshevik,  de  P'litical,  an'  de  Social.  De  Social 
has  de  Ladies'  Annex." 

Honey  Tone's  eyes  played  steadily  across  his  au 
dience,  horizontally,  and  his  voice  shot  straight  at 
the  ears  of  the  assemblage,  but  his  imagination 
started  up,  and  now  it  made  its  final  flight.  "Dat's 
all  I  tells  you,  'ceptin'  my  own  humble  efforts  will 
be  directed  at  organizin'  a  New  World  Af'ican 
Colony  in  de  free  country  of  Barzil.  Dat's  all. 
Fo'  each  an'  ev'ry  project  us  needs  a  Deppity  Soo 
preem  Leadeh.  Dese  will  be  'pointed  f'm  amongst 
you.  Each  Deppity  Soopreem  Leadeh  adorns  his- 
self  wid  de  gilt-edge  robes  ob  de  'propriate  respon 
sibility  an'  collects  de  cash.  Deppity  Collector  fo' 
each  Deppity  Leadeh  likewise  weahs  de  robes  whut 


LADY   LUCK  189 

de  ritual  describes.  Ritual  c'mmittee  gits  a  per 
centage  ob  de  receipts.  Deppities  gits  one  dollah 
fo'  ev'ry  three  whut's  took  in.  Any  income  oveh 
twenty  dollahs  a  day  goes  to  de  Social  an*  Festive 
departments." 

The  orator  pulled  a  little  book  out  of  his  pocket. 
"Hopin'  you  elects  steady  an'  reliable  frien's  fo' 
de  'sponsible  offices,  us  now  opens  de  'scription 
books  fo'  de  Temple  Fund,  payin'  int'rest  a  hund'ed 
per  cent  ev'y  week.  Pussonally,  I  donates  a  hund'ed 
dollars  to  staht  de  ball  rollin'  — " 

Honey  Tone  knew  his  crowd. 

"How  much,  brotheh?  Sign  yo'  name.  Cash. 
C'tincate  in  green  an'  yaller  wid  de  gol'  seal  will  be 
conferred  at  de  Fust  Conclave  ob  de  Soopreem 
Leadehs  of  Departments  an'  de  Gran'  Deppities. 
,  .  .  Gimme  dat  bill ;  I  has  change,  brotheh.  .  .  ." 

Late  that  night,  escorted  by  a  committee  a  little 
more  soopreem  than  the  body  of  the  mob,  Honey 
Tone  walked  back  to  his  hotel  room.  Everything 
was  organized  to  a  degree  which  had  deprived  the 
mob  of  blood  hunters  of  all  of  their  ready  cash. 

On  his  way  tcr  the  hotel  the  uplif ter  pondered  the 
question  of  conduct  affecting  his  immediate  future. 
"To  blow  or  not  to  blow" — that  was  the  question. 
He  reviewed  the  hills  and  valleys  of  the  land  of 
promise  over  which  his  galloping  vocal  organs  had 
hauled  the  hopes  of  his  hearers.  He  decided  that 


190  LADY   LUCK 

the  business  of  making  good  would  involve  consid 
erable  work.  The  work  part  failed  to  attract  him. 
He  decided  to  bid  the  committee  a  long  farewell  at 
the  hotel,  without  their  knowing  it,  but  his  decision 
suffered  a  veto  in  the  persistence  with  which  the 
three  Soopreem  Deppities  stuck  to  their  walking 
treasury  department. 

In  his  room  Honey  Tone  ma3e  a  final  effort  to 
side-step  the  escort.  He  removed  his  coat  and  hung 
it  on  a  chair.  "Now  wid  de  cares  whut  infests  de  day 
relegated  to  de  bosom  ob  de  past,  I  lays  me  down 
an'  sleeps.  Brothehs,  I  hopes  you  all  enjoys  de 
boon  ob  ol*  lady  nature's  sweet  restorer,  an'  I  sees 
you  tomorr'  at — " 

"You  sees  us  now."  A  heavy-set  deppity  grunted 
a  verdict.  "Gimme  'at  quilt,  an'  I  makes  down  man 
pallet  on  de  flo'." 

Without  implying  anything  pussonal,  another  of 
the  soopreem  trio  laid  himself  down  close  against 
the  door. 

The  uplifter  knew  a  bear  trap  when  he  saw  it. 
He  pillowed  his  rangy  jaw  on  the  comforting  out 
lines  of  the  lumpy  treasure  in  the  pocket  of  his  vest, 
folded  beneath  his  head.  "Talk  sure  is  cheap,"  he 
reflected.  "Talk  is  cheap,  but  sometimes  you  can  , 
trade  big  words  for  big  money." 

A  violent  snore  answered  him,  and  again  hope 


LADY   LUCK  191 

mounted  to  his  heart,  but  presently  he  realized 
that  only  one  of  his  associates  was  sleeping. 

With  the  sleepers  changing  shifts  every  hour  or 
so,  the  long  night  passed. 

By  dawn  Honey  Tone  was  resolved  to  give  his 
schemes  a  run  for  their  money.  You  never  could! 
tell  how  a  scheme  might  turn  out ;  and  the  coloniza 
tion  business  sounded  pretty  good,  even  to  its  over- 
stressed  inventor. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 
i. 

THE  convention  of  the  Nobles  of  the  Myste 
rious  Mecca  dwindled  into  the  final  stage 
that  attends  all  conventions.  Golf  was 
eliminated,  and  business  was  the  order  of  the  day. 
The  Mud  Turtle  left  him;  and  thereafter  the  Wild 
cat  suffered  indirectly,  being  threatened  with  a  re 
sumption  of  his  responsibility  as  porter  on  the  special 
car  that  had  brought  the  Chicago  contingent  west  to 
San  Francisco.  A  sense  of  restraint  gradually  killed 
off  the  wild  free  business  of  roaming  the  Lincoln 
Park  golf  course  at  so  much  per  roam,  eating  heavy 
on  the  proceeds,  and  sleeping  twelve  hours  a  day. 

Arrayed  in  his  yaller  raiment,  he  sought  the  of 
fices  of  the  Pullman  company  and  got  confidential 
with  the  office  boy.  "Fs  de  po'teh  fo'  de  blue 
fezant  boys — dis  heah  Mysterious  Mecca  business. 
Dey  tells  me  us  leaves  fo'  Chicago  real  soon. 
Ah  jus'  been  down  at  de  deepo  lookin'  fo'  de  cah. 
Whah  at  is  dat  cah?  Me  'an  Lily  aims  to  git  it 
swep'  out  befo'  de  gen'men  comes." 

The  office  boy  took  the  Wildcat's  message  to  an 

192 


LADY   LUCK  193 

inner  office.  Two  minutes  later  the  answer  came 
back  in  the  person  of  a  gentleman  who  was  trying  to 
hold  his  temper.  "You're  fired!  You  started 
with  your  car  in  Chicago,  left  it  in  Wyoming,  and 
here  you  are !  Git  out  of  here  before  I — " 

"Cap'n,  yessuh!"  The  Wildcat  knew  a  gesture 
when  he  saw  it.  He  retreated,  dragging  his  mascot 
goat  a  little  too  fast  for  Lily's  comfort. 

"Goat,  doggone  you,  whut  fo'  did  you  go  A.  W. 
O.  L.  an'  git  us  bofe  loose  f'm  dat  railroad  job? 
Heah  us  is  wid  only  fo'  bits,  an'  all  yo'  fault." 

Lily  admitted  the  charge  in  a  plaintive  bleat 
which  softened  the  harsh  language  which  her  master 
was  bellowing  at  his  mascot  in  the  din  of  Market 
(Street.  Presently  the  Wildcat  forgot  the  acute 
misery  of  not  having  any  hard  work  staring  him  in 
the  face.  "Us  has  fo'  bits.  'Ats  mo'  money  dan 
mos'  folks  has.  Lily,  us  eats. 

"I  don't  bother  work,  work  don't  bother  me. 
I'se  fo'  times  as  happy  as  a  bumble  bee. 
Us  eats  when  us  kin  git  it,  sleeps  mos'  all  de  time — " 

At  a  lunch  counter  on  Sutter  Street  much  fre 
quented  by  members  of  his  race  the  Wildcat  spread 
the  fifty  cents  out  over  rations  that  made  up  in  mass 
what  they  lacked  in  delicacy.  Half  way  through 
the  meal  he  slacked  up  enough  to  get  talkative.  The 
boy  next  to  him  at  the  lunch  counter  was  confronted 


194  LADY   LUCK 

with  enough  food  to  hold  him  for  a  few  minutes ;  and 
it  was  at  this  more  fortunate  individual  that 
the  Wildcat  directed  his  remarks.  "Podneh,  whah 
at  kin  a  boy  locate  a  job  of  work  in  dis  yere  town?" 

"Whah  you  f'm?" 

"Me  an'  mah  mascot  hails  f'm  Memphis." 

"How  come  you  so  fah  f'm  home'?" 

"Boy,  whah  at  did  you  meet  up  wid  so  much 
wantin'  to  know*?" 

"Good  many  jail  niggers  loose.  Thought  may 
be—" 

"Don't  think  no  mo'.  Dont  think  'nuther  word 
'bout  me  an'  Lily.  I  come  f'm  de  ahmy.  Two 
yeahs  in  France,  an'  lately  I  lef  de  Pullman  railroad 
people  whut  hires  sleepin'  cah  po'tehs.  'At's  all. 
Ain't  no  jail  connected  wid  me.  All  I  craves  is  a 
job  whut  pays  money." 

"De  wages  at  de  docks  unloadin'  steamboats  is 
ten  dollahs  a  day.  Depen's  on  how  much  money 
you  needs.  Dey  wants  stevedores  bad.  Dey's  a 
strike." 

"Boy,  dey  has  me !  I'se  a  bad  stevedo'.  Whah 
at  is  dis  boat-unloadin'  bizness4?" 

The  boy  revealed  the  location  of  the  ten-dollar 
job.  "You  trails  along  afteh  you  gits  to  de  wateh 
whah  de  big  boats  is.  Half  a  mile  f'm  de  ferry 
buildin'  you  sees  a  gang  standin'  round.  Them's 
strikers.  You  goes  through,  an'  de  boss  shows  you 


LADY   LUCK  195 

whah  to  head  in.     Does  you  know  de  stevedo'  bus 
iness?" 

"I'll  say  us  does.  Me  an'  de  res'  ob  de  Fust  Serv 
ice  Battalion  unloaded  all  de  boats  whut  landed 
in  France  durin'  de  wah.  How  come  you  ain't 
workin'  yo'self  at  de  ten-dollah  job?" 

"I'se  a  'vestor.  'Vested  some  cash  in  a  new 
o'ganization  whut  was  instigated  heah  lately. 
Pays  big.  Two  fo'  one  ev'y  week.  You  gives  de 
ol'  Soopreem  Leadeh  fifty  dollahs,  an'  nex'  week 
back  he  comes  wid  a  hund'ed.  You  hoi's  out  some 
an'  'vests  de  res'.  Nex'  week  you  reaps  agin.  Pays 
fifty,  gits  a  hund'ed." 

"Whah  at  is  dis  Soopreem  man?" 

"Thought  you  tol'  me  you  was  broke.  How 
come  you  lie  so?" 

"Ain't  said  no  lie." 

"You's  broke,  ain't  you?  What  good  does  dis 
Soopreem  man  do  you  'less  you  kin  'vest  wid  him? 
Git  yo'  job,  an'  when  you  has  beginnin'  money  I 
meets  you  an'  reveals  whah  at  is  de  gol'  mine." 

"Meet  you  heah  nex'  Sat'dy  night.  'At's  pay 
night,  I  s'poses." 

"You  s'poses  right.     Ah  meets  you  Sat' day/' 

"Sho'  will.  Podneh,  whut  name  is  you  favored 
with?  I  goes  by  name  Wilecat — by  rights  I  was 
baptized  Vitus  Marsden."  The  Wildcat  held  out 
the  hand  of  brotherhood. 


196  LADY   LUCK 

"Call  me  Trombone  when  you  calls  confiden 
tial,"  his  companion  replied.  "By  rights  I  is  Pike 
Canfield,  but  folks  calls  me  Trombone  eveh  since 
me  an'  de  name  got  famous.  Mebbe  you  is  heard 
of  me.  I  plays  de  slip  horn." 

"Sho'  I  is — many's  de  time!  So  you  is  Trom 
bone,  is  you?  Sho'  proud  to  meet  up  wid  you. 
Sho'  'bliged  fo'  de  knowledge  concernin'  de  ten- 
dollah  job.  Soon  as  I  'cumulates  some  payday  me 
an'  Lily  meets  you  heah  nex'  Sat'day  night.  Den 
us  'vests  wid  de  Soopreem  Leadeh  an'  mebbe  has  a 
gran'  ruckus  wid  de  profits." 

That  night  the  Wildcat  slept  free  and  chilly  on  a 
park  bench,  covered  only  with  the  blanket  of  fog 
which  rolled  in  at  midnight. 

Shortly  after  dawn,  with  Lily  at  his  heels,  he 
walked  to  the  entrance  of  the  pier  against  which 
lay  a  cargo  ship  loading  for  a  famine  area  in  Europe. 
"Whah  at  is  de  man  whut  hires  de  han's?"  he  asked. 

Two  hours  later  the  foreman  of  the  dock  gang 
was  pointed  out  to  him,  and  in  ten  minutes,  with 
Lily  tied  to  a  barrel  of  nutritious  pickles,  the  Wild 
cat  took  his  place  in  the  long  line  of  stevedores  that 
hustled  freight  out  of  the  pier  shed  and  into  the  nets 
under  the  cargo  booms  of  the  ship.  "Lily — tonight 
us  eats  on  credit,  an'  sleeps  inside  some  place  whah 
de  fog  weatheh  don't  git." 


LADY   LUCK  197 

All  the  stevedore  crew  were  members  of  the  Wild 
cat's  own  race.  Before  noon  he  had  affiliated  with 
enough  friends  to  make  the  matter  of  .noontime 
lunch  a  simple  business  of  accepting  part  of  what 
was  offered  him,  while  Lily  did  the  best  she  could 
on  enough  assorted  nutriment  to  feed  six  mascots. 

Considering  the  start  he  had  made  that  morning, 
the  Wildcat  realized,  with  his  seventh  sandwich,  that 
life  isn't  so  bad  if  you  manage  to  live  through  it. 
When  he  began  the  afternoon  shift  his  ancient  phi 
losophy  had  returned,  and  to  trie  clatter  of  the  activ 
ity  about  him  he  contributed  his  rambling  voice. 
Presently  the  words  of  his  song  recruited  a  few  con 
verts  from  the  gang  about  him ;  and  by  four  o'clock, 
with  the  freight  moving  faster  than  it  had  for  many 
a  day,  the  hollow  spaces  in  the  long  pier  were  filled 
with  the  echoes  that  lifted  from  an  intermittent 
chorus  which  proclaimed  that 

"I  kin  load  a  steamboat,  load  it  full  wid  freight ; 
I  kin  load  a  steamboat  when  it's  leavin*  late. 
Dat's  de  reason  I'se  as  happy  as  a  bee, 
I  don't  botheh  work,  an'  work  don't  botheh  me." 

Throughout  the  late  hours  of  the  afternoon  the 
eyes  of  the  foreman  were  on  the  Wildcat.  "Hus- 
tlin'  nigger.  Make  him  a  straw  boss  tomorrow  if 
this  keeps  up." 


198  LADY   LUCK 

2. 

Honey  Tone  realized  that  rank  imposes  com 
mensurate  obligation  before  his  Temple  of  Luck 
campaign  had  lived  a  week.  Too  much  rank  im 
posed  too  much  obligation,  and  so  the  Swamic 
Church  and  the  Faith  Healing  and  the  Palm  Read 
ing  Magi  and  several  other  verbal  branches  of  his 
project  were  discarded  before  the  several  deppity 
soopreem  leaders  got  too  soopreem  to  handle.  The 
backbone  of  his  income  was  at  once  the  Temple 
Fund;  and  this  important  business  demanded  and 
received  all  of  his  energy  except  that  demanded  by 
his  elaborate  pictures  of  the  New  World  African 
Colony  in  Brazil. 

The  Temple  Fund,  paying  all  investors  a  hundred 
per  cent  a  week,  was  popular  from  the  start.  On  the 
first  dividend  day  Honey  Tone  made  the  grade  with 
out  difficulty,  and  nil  subscriptions  were  repaid,  to 
gether  with  a  bonus  of  a  like  amount.  Immediately 
after  the  ceremony  of  repayment  was  completed, 
the  backwash  of  investment  began  to  roll  in,  and  by 
the  evening  the  promoter  counted  more  than  a  thou 
sand  dollars  in  his  hip  pocket  treasury.  On  the  next 
day  a  new  group  of  subscribers  to  whom  the  news 
had  been  retailed  milled  about  the  doors  of  the  tem 
porary  Temple  for  a  chance  to  register  and  donate 
their  investments.  Honey  Tone,  operating  in  a 


LADY   LUCK  199 

rented  house,  herded  the  investors  into  a  room  where 
his  voice  could  pulverize  the  sediment  of  reluctance 
which  remained  in  his  hearers'  minds,  leaving  no 
dregs  of  doubt  that  might  cloud  the  nectar  of  hope. 
He  donned  a  serious  looking  coat,  long  and  black, 
and  swept  a  broad  yellow  sash  across  his  chest.     On 
his  head  rested  a  Manchu  mandarin  cap  purchased 
in  Chinatown  and  revised  with  ornament  suitable 
for  the  insignia  of  the  Soopreemest.     About  his 
waist  was  the  equator  part  of  a  Sam  Brown  belt,  and 
from  it  dangled  a  Civil  War  cavalry  sabre  whose 
scabbard  had  suffered  two  coats  of  gilt  paint,  not 
quite  dry.     He  retained  his  ordinary  street  shoes; 
life  was  a  battle,  and  you  never  could  tell  when  the 
bugles  of  fate  might  blow  recall.     Street  shoes  came 
in  handy  when  there  was  any  heavy  running  to  be 
done. 

In  his  uniform  he  addressed  the  herded  investors. 
"Breth'rin,  de  books  is  closed  fo'  de  present  week. 
All  whut  paid  yistiddy  gits  dey  money  back,  'long 
wid  de  same  amout  fo'  intres'  nex',  Satidy  mawnin'. 
Dem  whut  pays  descriptions  now  gits  de  'vestment 
an'  de  hund'ed  per  cent  intres'  de  Satidy  afteh  nex'. 
De  books  is  now  open,  de  gol'  seal  c'tificates  is 
ready.  Fawm  in  line  an'  git  yo'  money  ready.  .  .  . 
Ten  dollahs,  brotheh.  Heah's  yo'  papeh.  Now 
you  is  a  Deppity  Soopreem  Leadeh,  'titled  to  de  red 
sash.  .  .  .  Nex'  Satidy  us  'lects  de  ten  Soopreem 


200  LADY   LUCK 

Gov'nors  fo'  de  leadin'  districts  in  de  New  Worl' 
African  Colony  at  Barzil.  Boat  leaves  wid  de 
'ficials  an'  de  p'visions  nex'  month.  'Lection  is  by  de 
lucky  numbehs.  Soopreem  'ficials  gits  a  house  an' 
ten  thousan'  milrice — dat's  Barzil  dollahs — ev'y 
month  to  travel  roun'  wid  an'  see  is  de  distric'  doin7 
O.  K.  .  .  .  Fifteen  dollahs — dat  'titles  you  to  de 
.Yaller  Sash  of  Trust.  Chances  is  you  sho'  will  be 
a  Soopreem  Gov'nor.  Nex'  brotheh.  .  .  ."• 

On  the  following  Saturday  Honey  Tone  managed 
to  postpone  the  election  of  the  Soopreem  Governors 
for  the  ten  districts  of  the  colony  and  to  sidestep  the 
various  vague  promises  that  he  had  sown  so  lavishly 
throughout  the  preceding  two  weeks,  but  in  the  de 
partment  of  finance  there  was  no  evasion,  short  of 
flight,  and  in  the  white  light  that  forever  beat  about 
him  escape  for  the  moment  was  impossible.  He 
sensed  the  growing  pyramid  of  final  retribution  and 
began  to  formulate  plans  whereby  the  mantle  of  re 
sponsibility  might  be  transferred  to  other  aspiring 
shoulders. 

The  cumulative  financial  problem  was  a  simple 
matter  of  geometrical  progression,  at  the  far  end  of 
which  lay  a  solution  consisting  of  several  quarts  of 
blood.  He  faced  a  wire-edged  razor,  seeking  a  gilt- 
edged  dodge,  and  so  far  his  brain  had  failed  to  for 
mulate  the  safe  way  out. 

His  attempts  at  transferring  the  long  end  of  the 


LADY   LUCK  201 

load  to  the  strutting  deppities  who  hung  around  the 
Temple  of  Luck  met  with  less  success.  "Long  as 
you  stays  Soopreem  enough  to  wrassle  wid  de  finan 
cial  department,  us  leaves  you  run  it.  You  is  soo- 
preem  now.  Stay  dat  way." 

Later  on  Brother  Livingstone  approached  Honey 
Tone  and  warned  the  leader  to  stay  Soopreem  or  pay 
the  charges  on  one  life-size  mistake.  "Confidential 
like,  Honey  Tone,  I  tells  you  stay  soopreem  o'  else 
tell  de  grave  committee  de  facts  fo'  yo'  tombstone." 

The  person  of  the  Soopreem  Leader  became  the 
object  of  watchful  care  on  the  part  of  three  shifts  of 
Deppity  Gardeens.  Day  and  night  there  were  two 
or  three  watchful  waiters  on  the  job. 

The  fourth  pay  day  was  approaching  and  with  it 
an  obligation  to  pay  out  more  than  four  thousand 
dollars.  Receipts  were  falling  off.  On  Wednes 
day  night  Honey  Tone's  bankroll  audited  less  than 
three  thousand  dollars.  He  tried  to  split  the  pot 
with  the  Deppity  Gardeens  in  return  for  liberty. 
In  this  he  failed. 

On  Thursday  night,  as  near  as  he  could  see,  all 
the  gates  were  closed.  He  was  on  a  one-way  road. 


CHAPTER   XIX 
i. 

"All  I  does  is  follow  mah  feet, 
'Ceptin'  when  de  boss  says,  'Stop  an*  eat!' 
Follow  mah  feet  de  whole  day  through; 
Follow  mah  feet  'till  I  burns  a  shoe, 
Shovin'  a  truck  load  o'  po'k  an'  beans, 
Loadin'  de  boat  fo'  New  O'leans." 

BACK  of  his  truck  on  the  dock  the  Wildcat 
set  the  pace  for  his  fellows.     The  man  in 
front  of  him   found  the  Wildcat   forever 
at  his  heels.    'The  man  following  had  a  hard  time 
keeping  up. 

Now  and  then  the  Wildcat's  feet  abandoned  the 
steady  trot  for  a  gait  which  included  considerable 
prancing,  embellished  with  a  new  series  of  fancy 
steps,  limited  only  by  the  inertia  of  the  freight 
truck  with  which  the  stepper's  ambition  was  re 
tarded. 

"On  de  down-hill  drag  let  yo'  hind  legs  slide ; 
Mawnin',  Mistah  Debbil,  git  aboa'd  an'  ride. 
Git  behin'  me,  Satan,  on  de  up-hill  road, 
I'se  a  one-horse  sinner  wid  a  two-horse  load." 
202 


LADY   LUCK  203 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  Wildcat's  tactics  had 
converted  a  group  of  admirers  who  had  discovered 
in  the  prosaic  business  of  rustling  freight  a  first-class 
chance  to  make  a  laughing  game  of  it.  Meanwhile, 
they  were  moving  record  tonnage. 

At  evening  the  pier  foreman  sent  for  the  Wildcat. 
"Tomorrow  morning  you  take  a  gang  down  to  Sec 
tion  Seventeen  and  start  moving  flour  into  the  West 
King.  There'll  be  five  a  day  extra  in  it — that'll 
buy  grub  for  the  goat." 

"Cap'n,  yessuh — you  means  I'se  fo'man1?" 

"That's  what  I  mean.  Keep  your  niggers  rust- 
lin'." 

"Yass  suh !  Sho'  will !"  The  Wildcat  jerked  at 
Lily's  string  halter.  "Goat,  say  you'se  'bliged  to 
de  cap'n.  Stan'  roun'  theh,  fo'  I  shows  you  who's 
de  boss  wid  a  club !" 

"Blaaa!"  returned  Lily. 

The  pier  foreman  smiled.  "You  might  round  up 
some  more  men  if  you  can  find  'em,"  he  continued. 
"We  can  use  a  lot  more.  I'll  give  you  twenty  dol 
lars  a  man  for  all  you  can  get.  Tell  'em  ten  a  day, 
with  grub  and  quarters  furnished  here  on  the  dock." 

"Cap'n,  you  means  I  gits  twenty  dollars  fo'  ev'y 
stevedo'  nigger  whut  I  'cumulates?" 

"That's  it." 

"How  much  is  a  hund'ed  niggers,  suh1?" 

"Two  thousand  dollars." 


204  LADY   LUCK 

"Cap'n,  you  gits  'em  tomorr'.  Us  kin  rule  dat 
many  single  handed — me  'suadin'  an'  Lily  rammin'. 
Mebbe  two  hund'ed.  Come  on  heah,  goat!  Le's 
go!" 

The  Wildcat  left  the  pier  with  visions  of  a  mil 
itary  formation  of  a  million  men,  marching  steadily 
toward  a  place  where  they  were  worth  twenty  dol 
lars  apiece  to  him.  In  his  dream  of  being  king  of 
all  labour  agents  he  failed  to  include  the  difficulties 
with  which  his  pathway  was  beset.  The  stevedores' 
strike,  gaining  strength  each  day,  now  included  a 
floating  committee  whose  duty  it  was  to  discourage 
the  enlistment  of  new  labour. 

The  Wildcat  borrowed  a  dollar  and  ate  supper  at 
the  lunch  counter  where  he  had  met  Trombone,  hop 
ing  that  he  might  again  encounter  that  individual. 
Ranged  about  him  were  ten  or  fifteen  hearty  eaters ; 
and  to  this  group,  at  the  termination  of  his  own  meal, 
he  addressed  his  invitation  to  participate  in  the  bus 
iness  of  loading  steamships  with  outbound  freight.. 
"Ten  dollahs  a  day,  boy,  comf'table  place  fo' 
sleepin',  an'  all  de  grub  you  kin  eat." 

His  oration  fell  on  barren  ground.  He  left  the 
lunch  counter  without  having  gained  a  single  recruit. 
"Cm  on  heah,  Lily.  Dese  city  niggers  sho'  is  triflin'. 
Whut  us  needs  is  fiel'  han's,  o'  else  some  heavy 
'suader  like  a  hoe  handle.  Us  aims  to  sleep  some 


LADY   LUCK  205 

now.  Mebbe  tomorr'  Lady  Luck  boons  me  wid 
men  whut  craves  a  job  wid  rations  an'  ten  dollahs  a 
day." 

For  a  while  the  next  morning  the  work  of  loading 
the  West  King  with  flour  lagged  a  little  under  the 
direction  of  the  new  foreman.  At  eleven  o'clock, 
noting  the  epidemic  of  reluctance  to  move  out  of  a 
slow  drag  which  had  afflicted  his  gang,  the  Wildcat 
climbed  to  the  top  of  a  tier  of  flour  barrels.  He 
took  out  his  knife  and  whittled  through  the  hoops  of 
a  barrel.  He  resumed  his  place  on  the  pier. 
"Break  down  dat  top  line.  Git  movin' !  Haul  out 
'at  bottom  bar'l !  Stan'  back  when  dey  comes !" 

They  came.  An  avalanche  of  rolling  barrels 
rolled  wildly  across  the  deck  of  the  pier.  The  top 
one  on  which  the  hoops  were  cut  landed  with  a 
smash  in  the  centre  of  an  explosive  spray  of  flour. 
The  atmosphere  was  suddenly  white  dust.  .  .  . 
Black  complexions  presently  became  grey. 

Perspiring  freight  jugglers  began  to  laugh  at  their 
fellows.  In  three  minutes  the  roof  of  the  pier  was 
echoing  back  the  volleys  of  high-pitched  laughter 
which  lifted  from  below.  Until  noon,  and  then 
through  the  long  afternoon,  all  that  the  Wildcat's 
men  did  was  to  laugh  their  heads  off  at  the  slightest 
provocation  and  move  more  freight  than  the  ship's 
cargo  booms  could  handle. 


206  LADY   LUCK 

"Ah  likes  biscuits  an'  Ah  likes  bread, 

Doan'  like  'em  plastered  on  mah  head, 
Craves  to  have  'em  spread  around  on  mah  inside, 
'Sted  of  havin'  dough  a-drippin'  off  mah  hide." 

The  pier  foreman,  passing  the  Wildcat's  crew  late 
in  the  afternoon,  paused  to  look  the  deal  over. 
"Everything  all  right?" 

"Cap'n,  yessuh.  Dey's  good  boys.  'dined  to 
mope  some  at  fust,  but  dey  got  laughin*  some  way. 
Since  den  dey's  been  movin'  'long." 

Without  knowing  it,  the  Wildcat  had  mixed  the 
essence  of  all  the  theories  of  efficiency  into  one  barrel 
of  flour.  The  results  of  the  administered  dose  were 
showing  on  the  tally  boards  in  the  freight  office  at 
the  end  of  the  long  pier.  The  transportation  sup 
erintendent  sent  for  the  pier  foreman.  "Jim,  who 
is  handling  the  flour  into  the  West  King?" 

"Young  nigger  called  Wildcat — right  name  is 
Marsden.  Got  him  yesterday." 

"Keep  him  forever.  The  Empire  docks  tomor 
row  for  a  mixed  cargo  for  New  Orleans.  Sixteen 
thousand  tons.  Let  this  Wildcat  boy  handle  all  of 
it — as  long  as  he  lasts." 

2. 

On  Friday  morning  Honey  Tone  groaned  himself 
awake,  realizing  when  his  eyes  were  open  that  less 


LADY   LUCK  207 

than  thirty-six  hours  lay  between  his  fragile  form 
and  blood-tinted  trouble.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
his  self-appointed  guardians  clung  closer  with  the 
passage  of  the  hours,  as  if  they  suspected  their  soo- 
preem  treasury  of  perfecting  a  plot  which  might  in 
clude  his  exit.  The  obligations  of  the  moment  were 
four  thousand  dollars,  and  in  Honey  Tone's  bulging 
pocket  but  three-fourths  of  that  amount  awaited  the 
pay  hour  which  would  come  with  Saturday  night. 

Saturday  dawned,  and  with  it  the  sprout  of  an 
idea  had  shoved  through  the  graveyard  ground  of 
Honey  Tone's  dejection.  In  mournful  tones,  hardly 
hoping  that  success  would  attend  his  latest  scheme, 
he  announced  it  to  his  guardian  deppities.  "Breth 
ren,  yo'  leadeh's  efforts  has  been  rewarded  like  de  oil 
in  de  widow's  croose.  F'm  now  on  us  pays  back  de 
original  'scription  wid  a  hund'ed  per  cent  intres',  an' 
— hearkin'  unto  dese  words — oveh  an'  above  de  'rig- 
inal  an'  de  intres',  a  bonus  equal  to  de  'vestment! 
Doan  ask  what  de  Lawd  means  when  de  blessin* 
showers  down.  Git  in  de  rain  an'  git  wet  wid  cash. 
Th'ee  fo'  one — dat's  whut  pays!" 

At  evening,  before  he  took  his  place  at  the  pay  ta 
ble,  he  repeated  the  announcement.  The  rooms  of 
the  Temple  were  crowded  and  the  flock  was  silent, 
hanging  with  acute  interest  on  the  Soopreemest's 
words.  Honey  Tone  held  up  his  hand.  He  bowed 
right  and  left,  and  the  glittering  tinsel  on  the  man- 


208  LADY   LUCK 

darin  cap  reflected  the  colour  of  minted  gold  from 
the  yellow  lights.  He  held  aloft  the  hilt  of  the 
gilded  sword  that  swung  from  his  yellow  belt.  He 
sheathed  his  sword  and  parked  his  nervous  left  hand 
in  the  folds  of  the  yellow  sash  that  draped  across  his 
chest.  "Brethren  ob  de  Temple:  Sow  an'  reap. 
As  you  sows,  you  likewise  reaps.  De  Goddess  of 
Gold,  an'  de  lady's  husban'  oF  man  Midas,  has 
smiled  agin  upon  ou'  humble  efforts.  Tonight  Ah 
makes  a  momentous  announcement  befo'  Ah  returns 
wid  intres'  de  'vestments  you  made  las'  week.  Up 
to  now  de  'financial  repayments  has  been  two  fo'  one. 
F'm  now  on  us  pays  twice  dat  much!'* 

He  paused  to  let  his  words  sink  in.  "Fo'  eve'y 
dollah  you  'vests  you  gits  de  dollah  back,  anotheh 
dollah  for  intres',  an',  as  a  special  bonus,  anotheh 
dollah  whut  makes  de  th'ee  fo'  one.  Dis  Special 
'Vestment  Depahtment  is  open  now  an'  will  be  run 
wid  de  lef  han'  whilst  de  right,  not  knowin'  whut  de 
lef  han'  does,  pays  out  yo'  las'  week's  cash.  Fawm 
in  line.  Ah  pays  an'  receives  at  de  same  table. 
Who  is  de  fust  brotheh?  Yass  indeed!  Heah's  yo' 
money — an'  you  says  you  craves  to  'vest  it  in  de 
th'ee  fo'  one  fund.  Praise  de  Lawd !  De  los'  sheep 
sees  de  light." 

Some  there  were  who  failed  to  see  the  light,  but 
by  strenuous  persuasion  Honey  Tone  managed  to  re- 


LADY    LUCK  209 

claim  enough  of  his  payments  to  piece  out  the  miss 
ing  thousand. 

Over  and  above  the  success  he  enjoyed  in  keeping 
his  epidermis  free  from  the  parked  razors  of  revenge, 
he  pouched  a  few  hundred  dollars'  surplus  before  the 
hour  of  payment  ceased.  With  it,  including  the 
borrowed  and  juggled  thousand,  he  had  incurred  an 
obligation  to  repay  another  staggering  sum  on  the 
following  Saturday  night. 

Thankful  for  his  escape  from  the  crisis  of  the  mo 
ment  and  a  little  bit  shaken  by  the  acute  peril  which 
had  confronted  him,  he  sat  heavily  at  the  pay  table, 
and  sagged  down  in  his  soopreem  robes.  He  ran 
his  eye  over  the  pay  list,  and  for  the  first  time  he 
noticed  an  unpaid  investor.  'Tike  Canneld — 
$100.00." 

A  knock  sounded  at  the  outer  door.  The  outer 
guard  clattered  in.  "Brotheh  Canneld,  an'  a 
strange  brotheh  who  desires  to  be  led  straight." 

"Tell  Brotheh  Canneld  to  enteh  unto  de  Soop 
reem  presence,"  Honey  Tone  returned,  according  to 
the  ritual.  Then,  under  his  breath,  "Dam  'at 
Trombone  nigger.  How  come  he  so  promp'  at  de 
las'  minute?" 


CHAPTER   XX 
i. 

A  LITTLE  late  at  the  Sutter  Street  lunch 
counter  by  reason  of  his  added  responsibil 
ities  at  the  dock,  the  Wildcat  had  found 
his  friend  Trombone  impatiently  awaiting  him. 

"Wilecat,  does  us  miss  de  meetin'  Ah  loses  a 
hund'ed  dollahs.  Grab  yo'  vittles  an'  eat  on  de 
run!" 

"Whut  time  is  you  due  at  de  Temple?" 
"De  meetin'  done  stahted  a  houah  back — 'less  us 
gits  dah  in  fifteen  minnits  de  do's  closed." 

"Trombone,  us  has  plenty  ob  time.  Ah  'sorbs 
mah  nutriment  in  five  minnits — 'at  leaves  ten  fo' 
de  trip.  Ain't  et  me  nothin'  all  day,  'ceptin'  break- 
fus'  an'  some  san'wiches  at  noon  time.  Sho'  been 
busy  loadin'  de  ol'  Empire  fo'  N'Awl'uns.  Dey 
made  me  de  gang  boss — I'se  got  mo'  niggers  dan  oP 
cunnel  had  in  de  Fust  Service  Battalion.  Sho'  is 
busy.  Niggers  craves  to  mope — ah  un-craves  'em 
like  de  Lootenant  used  to — gits  'em  all  laffin'  so 
ha'd  dey  forgits  de  wuk.  Fo'  long  dey  ain't  no  mo' 
w'uk,  an'  eve'ybody  feels  noble.  Dat's  all  de  talk 

2IO 


LADY   LUCK  211 

— heah's  mah  ham,  sizzlin'  in  de  gravy.  .  .  .  Stan' 
up  heah,  Lily;  eat  dese  lettuce  greens." 

The  Wildcat  did  an  hour's  eating  in  three  minutes. 
— "Whuf — oP  rations  sho'  tastes  noble.  Whah 
at's  yo'  soopreem  oP  leadeh  whut  pays  out  de 
money?  Ah  craves  to  'vest  some  mahse'f.  Tonight 
I  has  money.  Las'  week  me  an'  Lily  was  bust. 
Le's  go!" 

Ten  minutes  later  Trombone  and  the  Wildcat, 
leading  Lily,  were  at  the  outer  door  of  the  Temple 
of  Luck.  There  followed  the  ritual  business  of 
three  knocks  and  the  ceremony  of  admittance. 

2. 

Honey  Tone  saw  the  Wildcat  one  second  before 
that  individual  saw  the  Soopreem  paymaster.  One 
second  was  enough  for  Honey  Tone.  In  his  brain 
was  born  a  scheme  whereby  the  heavy  mantle  of 
leadership,  including  the  ponderous  pyramid  of 
financial  obligations,  might  be  shifted  to  the  Wild 
cat's  shoulders.  He  got  up  from  his  throne  at  the 
paytable  and  plowed  his  way  toward  the  Wildcat. 
He  held  out  the  hand  of  fellowship.  "Wilecat, 
how  is  you?  How  is  de  Worshupful  Potentate  f'm 
de  distant  Ian'  ?" 

"Honey  Tone !  Honey  Tone  Boone !  How  come 
you  heah?" 


212  LADY   LUCK 

Honey  Tone  took  the  Wildcat  by  the  arm. 
"Brothehs,  in  de  humble  yaller  raiment  of  a  plain 
nigger  de  long-looked-fo'  Barzil  Leadeh  has  come 
to  'scort  you  all  to  de  promis'  Ian'." 

He  half  dragged  the  Wildcat  to  a  little  room 
opening  off  the  larger  hall,  and  thereafter  for  five 
minutes  Honey  Tone  used  some  private  eloquence  on 
his  old-time  acquaintance.  The  Soopreem  Leader 
took  pains  to  omit  the  detail  covering  the  four-thou 
sand-dollar  obligation  that  went  with  the  job.  Fi 
nally  the  Wildcat  weakened.  "Sho'  sounds  noble, 
Honey  Tone.  Tell  me  de  res'." 

"You  is  de  head  boss  ob  de  New  Worl'  Af'ican 
Colony,  an'  weahs  de  robes,"  Honey  Tone  concluded. 
"You  is  Temp'rary  Soopreem  Leadeh  ob  de  Temple 
whilst  I  'tends  to  some  private  business  a  sho't  ways 
out  ob  town.  When  de  Barzil  Colony  is  runnin' 
you  gits  de  job  ob  Soopreem  King.  All  you  does 
now  is  keep  yo'  mouth  shut  an'  look  soopreem.  Dis 
steamboatin'  you  says  you  is  'gaged  in  comes  in 
handy.  You  tells  de  membehs  at  de  propeh  time 
dat  you  is  loadin'  de  boat  fo'  de  Barzil  Colony." 

Honey  Tone  left  his  convert  and  prepared  the 
way  for  the  transition  with  the  assembled  audience. 

Half  way  through  his  discourse  he  was  in 
terrupted  by  Trombone  Pike,  who  craved  to  get  his 
hundred  dollars  before  the  flight  of  Honey  Tone's 
imagination  lifted  the  soopreem  one  above  paltry 


LADY   LUCK  213 

things  like  financial  obligations.  Honey  Tone  paid 
him  with  three  quick  movements — a  dig  for  the 
roll,  an  outstretching  of  a  handful  of  cash,  and  the 
grip  of  eternal  brotherhood.  "  'At's  dat.  Dah  you  is." 

Meanwhile  the  Wildcat's  languid  brain  had  stum 
bled  over  an  idea  as  big  as  a  church.  "Ah  leads  de 
brethren  to  de  dock — an'  gits  twenty  dollahs  fo' 
every  man!"  When  Honey  Tone  returned,  the 
Wildcat  eagerly  succumbed  to  the  role  imposed  on 
him.  "Sho'  kin,  Honey  Tone.  Sho'  glad  to  be 
Temp'rary  Soopreem  Leadeh.  Ah  learns  dese  breth 
ren  de  steamboat  bizness.  Sho'  glad  to  show  'em  all 
I  knows  an'  git  'em  stahted." 

"Wait  heah  -till  I  'suades  'em  to  let  you  handle 
everything."  Honey  Tone  left  the  Wildcat  alone 
for  the  second  time  and  made  a  further  announce 
ment  to  the  brethren.  "De  Wo'shipful  Temp'rary 
Soopreem  Leadeh  suggests,  wid  de  high  knowledge 
he  has  fo'  suggesting  dat  if  he  has  de  treasury  depart 
ment  in  his  han's  de  payments  on  'vestments  will 
increase  up  to  fo'  to  one.  Dat  alone  shows  you 
whut  a  big  man  he  is.  Nex'  week  he  pays  you  all 
yo'  'vestments,  intres'  at  a  hund'ed  per  cent,  a  bonus 
ob  de  same  amount,  an'  a  special  dividend  equal  to 
one  an'  all.  Ah  hereby  'spectfully  resigns  de  robes 
ob  office,  an'  names  a  'nishiation  c'mmittee  ob 
twelve  brothehs  to  'dorn  de  new  Soopreem  Temp' 
rary  Leadeh  wid  de  raiment  of  his  rank." 


214  LADY   LUCK 

Honey  Tone  returned  to  the  Wildcat.  "You's 
been  'lected  unan'mous.  De  'nitiation  cer'monies 
is  ready.  You  gits  de  Gran'  Degree  right  away. 
Heah's  de  treasury.  Ain't  no  bills  due — yet. 
Don't  owe  nuthinV 

Honey  Tone  split  his  roll,  being  burdened  with 
the  rudiments  of  the  principle  of  safety  first.  He 
shoved  the  money  at  the  Wildcat  and  hurried  the 
candidate  to  the  door  before  the  victim  had  a  chance 
to  count  the  cash. 

There  followed  an  impromptu  initiation  cer 
emony,  interrupted  but  once  by  Lily's  bleating,  after 
which  the  Wildcat  realized  that  he  was  the  head  of 
something  that  he  knew  mighty  little  about.  He 
looked  around  for  Honey  Tone,  seeking  the  moral 
support  that  might  derive  from  the  presence  of  his 
old  friend  and  enemy. 

Honey  Tone  had  explained  himself  loose  from  his 
guards.  Honey  Tone  was  gone. 

The  Wildcat  fumbled  around  with  some  over 
sized  words,  and  then  the  real  object  of  his  speech 
came  to  him.  "Dese  niggers  means  twenty  dollahs 
apiece — on  de  dock."  He  launched  into  a  wild 
description  of  the  New  World  African  Colony.  He 
pictured  a  life  of  ease  in  which  each  charter  member 
of  the  colony  who  believed  in  heaven  would  be 
reluctant  to  trade  heaven  for  a  stevedore's  career. 
He  added  the  time  phrase  which  was  the  essence  of 


LADY   LUCK  215 

the  whole  affair.  "You  meets  me  heah  tomorr' 
mawnin'  at  six  o'clock.  Ah  leads  you  to  de  boat 
whah  you  sees  how  fas'  kin'  you  git  de  freight 
aboa'd.  So  as  yo'  gits  de  wages  yo'  labour  is  worthy 
ob,  like  de  Bible  says,  I  'ranges  dat  ev'y  man  gits 
ten  dollahs  a  day  an'  grub." 


Before  the  light  of  dawn  began-  to  chase  the  San 
Francisco  fogs  up  the  bay  the  charter  members  of 
the  New  World  African  Colony  began  to  assemble 
at  the  gates  of  the  Temple.  When  the  Wildcat 
appeared  at  six  o'clock  he  was  greeted  by  more  than 
two  hundred  worthy  brethren,  all  of  whom  craved  to 
learn  the  boat-loading  business  at  ten  dollars  a  day. 
He  marched  his  gang  to  the  Embarcadero,  yelling 
orders  in  a  manner  that  made  some  of  the  veterans  of 
the  A.  E.  F.  homesick. 

"Silence  in  de  ranks!"  The  clamour  subsided. 
"When  Ah  columns  you  lef,  head  fo'  de  big 
buildin' !"  The  big  building  was  the  entrance  to 
the  pier  against  which,  eating  charter  money  faster 
than  the  banks  could  loan  it  and  hungry  for  her  six 
teen  thousand  tons  of  mixed  freight,  lay  the  Empire. 

At  half  past  seven  the  Wildcat  reported  to  the 
pier  foreman  at  the  office  in  the  end  of  the  long 
building.  "Cap'n,  suh,  heah's  more'n  two  hund'ed 


216  LADY   LUCK 

twenty-dollah  niggers.  How  much  does  dat  come 
to,  suh?" 

The  pier  foreman  ran  his  eye  over  the  crowd 
without  answering.  He  disappeared  into  the  office, 
where  he  spoke  quickly  to  his  clerk.  "Cut  all  the 
labour-grabbers  off  the  payroll.  Call  'em  in. 
Here's  more  men  than  I've  seen  in  a  year." 

Outside  there  began  the  brief  business  of  distrib 
uting  the  new  supply  of  much-needed  labour.  This 
accomplished,  the  Wildcat  came  in  for  his  share  of 
attention.  "We  can  use  another  gang  like  this. 
Can  you  get  'em  by  tomorrow4?" 

"Cap'n,  suh,  Ah  gits  fo'  times  dis  many  does  you 
crave  'em.  When  does  Ah  git  de  money?" 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  Wildcat  received  a  piece 
of  blue  paper.  "Cap'n,  suh,  Ah  cain't  read  whut  de 
papeh  says.  Kin  you  read  fo'  me,  please,  sun*?" 

"That's  a  check  for  four  thousand  and  eighty 
dollars — two  hundred  and  four  men  at  twenty  a 
throw." 

"Lawd  gawd,  Lady  Luck,  you  sho'  showered 
down  dis  time!"  The  Wildcat's  brain  could  sur 
round  the  eighty-dollar  part,  but  the  four-thousand 
end  was  something  not  yet  real.  He  stowed  the 
check  in  his  pocket  with  the  fragment  of  the  treas 
ury  roll  of  the  Temple  of  Luck. 

On  Saturday,  unable  to  restrain  his  anxiety  to 
see  what  so  much  money  looked  like,  he  persuaded 


LADY   LUCK  217 

the  pier  foreman  to  send  the  clerk  to  the  bank  to  get 
the  check  cashed.  The  cash  was  handed  to  the 
Wildcat.  He  stowed  it  away  in  various  pockets  of 
the  yaller  suit.  "OP  money  sticks  out  like  a  stole 
chicken.  Neveh  did  see  so  much  money." 

That  night,  under  the  stress  of  prosperity,  the 
Wildcat  quit  an  hour  early.  He  drifted  to  the 
Temple  of  Luck,  intending  to  sit  easy  and  smoke  a 
cigar  and  talk  big  talk  to  the  evening  assembly  of 
brethren.  Two  or  three  of  Honey  Tone's  former 
guardians  were  busy  loafing  at  the  Temple  when 
the  Wildcat  arrived.  After  a  period  of  silence,  fol 
lowing  the  salutations  appropriate  for  the  Soopreem 
Leader,  a  deppity  led  up  to  the  matter  of  meeting 
the  financial  obligations  which  fell  due  that  even 
ing.  "Ah  nggehs,  Soopreem,  dat  dey's  somethin' 
like  fo'  thousan'  dollahs  to  be  paid  out  tonight. 
Sho'  is  a  lot  o'  money." 

The  Wildcat  was  interested.  "Fo'  thousan'? 
Whah  at  is  de  money  comin'  fin*?" 

Five  anxious  brethren  sat  up.  It  was  all  right 
for  the  Soopreem  Leadeh  to  enjoy  himself  on  what 
ever  subject  pleased  him,  as  long  as  there  were  no 
personal  dollar  signs  attached  to  the  subject. 

"You  knows  whah  it  comes  fm.  You's  jokin', 
Soopreem !  Go  'long  wid  yo'  talk.  'Scuse  me  fo' 
speakin'  so  familiah,  but  de  money  question  sho'  is 
in  de  fust  rank.  Specially  since  you  pays  fo'  to  one. 


218  LADY   LUCK 

De  Pas'  Soopreem  Leadeh  strained  hisse'f  to  pay 
th'ee  fo'  one." 

In  the  course  of  the  next  five  minutes  the  Wild 
cat's  eyes  were  opened  concerning  the  generous  ease 
with  which  Honey  Tone  had  relinquished  what  ap 
peared  to  be  a  position  of  prominence  second  to  none 
for  social  and  political  status.  He  sought  to  make 
his  escape,  only  to  discover  the  same  restraint  which 
had  defeated  Honey  Tone's  plans  of  flight. 

:"Come  easy — go  easy."  The  Wildcat  surren 
dered  to  the  clutch  of  circumstance.  He  felt  the  di 
minishing  weight  of  the  four  thousand  dollars.  "Ah 
kep'  it  a  week — dat's  longeh  den  Ah  eveh  had  such 
big  money  befo' !  Now  Ah  has  to  buy  mahse'f  free 
wid  it,  'stead  ob  usin'  it  fo'  rations  an'  sech.  Dog 
gone  !  Whah  at  is  Lady  Luck?" 

The  hour  for  the  meeting  came.  The  Wildcat 
adorned  himself  with  his  soopreem  robes.  He  cut  a 
long  end  from  the  yaller  sash  and  tied  it  around  the 
mascot's  stomach.  "Heah,  goat,  doggone  you. 
Git  ca'm.  Stan'  still  till  Ah  adorns  yo'  wid  de  soo 
preem  belly  band.  See  kin  you  make  Lady  Luck 
heah  you.  Dat  woman  sho'  fo'got  mah  name." 

"Blaaa!"  Festooned  with  the  yellow  sash,  Lily 
did  the  best  she  could  to  make  Lady  Luck  respond, 
but  Lady  Luck  was  deaf.  ' 

Lady  Luck  was  A.  W.  O.  L.     Thereafter  for  an 


LADY   LUCK  219 

hour  the  Wildcat  sat  at  the  Soopreem  table,  watch 
ing  his  stack  of  greenbacks  melt  out  before  him  on 
four-to-one  obligations  incurred  by  the  absent 
Honey  Tone. 

For  a  while,  with  every  disappearing  dollar,  the 
Wildcat  mentally  showered  the  absent  Honey  Tone 
with  epithets  picked  up  during  overstressed  moments 
of  an  active  life.  Then  to  the  Temp'rary  Soopreem 
Leader's  mind  there  came  a  faint  resolve  to  try  the 
ultimate  arrow  of  his  pack  in  an  effort  to  reclaim  his 
melting  money.  "De  clickers !" 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  misery  he  made  an  an 
nouncement  covering  the  programme  of  an  attempt 
to  defeat  the  evil  which  had  run  him  down. 

He  stood  up  on  the  chair  where  he  had  been  sit 
ting.  "Brethren,  befo'  us  gits  too  deep  into  de  ev- 
enin'  us  devotes  a  social  hour  to  Lady  Luck.  Count 
off  into  squads,  dig  deep  in  yo'  raiment  fo'  ammu 
nition  an'  de  clickin'  weapons,  den  for'd  march — 
into  de  battle  whah  de  top  sides  means  vick'ry  o'  else 
de  grave-diggin'  squad !  Af teh  de  squad  leadehs  de 
cides  who  is  de  bes'  man,  as  yo'  Soopreem  Leadeh  I 
claims  de  priv'lege  o'  meetin'  de  victors  on  de  clickin' 
nel'  of  battle.  Dat's  all.  Git  faded  an'  shoot 
fas'." 

A  battle  royal.  Thereafter  for  half  an  hour  the 
air  was  thick  with  prayer.  Presently  most  of  the 


220  LADY   LUCK 

four  thousand  had  been  prayed  into  the  hands  of 
half  a  dozen  squad  leaders. 

Then  the  Wildcat  spoke.  "Winners!  Lady 
Luck  sho'  smiled  down  on  you.  Now  your  Soo- 
preem  Leadeh  makes  'at  woman  laff  at  you.  Stan' 
by  me,  Lily !" 

The  mascot  goat  bleated  her  message  of  encour 
agement.  Spectators  rallied  around.  Out  of  his 
left  shoe  the  Wildcat  hauled  his  personal  weapons. 
On  the  floor  before  him  he  cast  the  last  fragment  of 
his  four-thousand-dollar  roll.  In  the  narrow  circle 
of  victors  exploded  his  point-blank  challenge. 

"Shoots  a  hund'ed!     Shower  down.     Ah  craves 


action : 


"You  neveh  kin  tell  till  de  gallopers  stop 
Whut  de  numbehs  reads  dat  lays  on  top. 
Comin'  out  a  top  side  seven  or  'leven 
Is  Wilecat  talk  fo'  a  payday  heaven. 
Seven's  a  winner  when  it  shows  up  fust, 
But  afteh  yo'  point  a  seven  means  bust. 

Comin'  out  fust  wid  a  dooce,  twelve,  o'  trey 
Is  jes'  like  throwin'  yo'  money  away, 
'Cept  you  keeps  de  dice  an'  stahts  once  mo* 
By  layin'  yo'  money  on  de  gam'lin'  flo'. 
Suppose  you  releases  a  fo',  six,  eight, 
You  tries  yo'  bes'  to  duplicate. 
De  same  hoi's  true  fo'  a  five,  nine,  ten, 
But  a  seven's  boun'  to  git  you  now  an'  then. 
As  I  said  befo'  does  a  seven  come  fust 

Befo'  you  makes  yo'  point,  it  means  you's  bust. 


LADY   LUCK  221 

In  fifteen  minutes  six  ex- victors  had  joined  the 
circle  of  innocent  bystanders  and  were  hunting  for 
phrases  to  explain  to  themselves  just  how  it  hap 
pened.  The  Wildcat,  stowing  away  the  incoming 
money  with  his  left  hand,  swept  his  victorious  right 
high  above  his  head.  In  his  moist  palm  nestled  his 
pussonal  dice. 

"I  lets  it  lay.     Shoots  it  all !" 

"Ain't  got  dat  much."  The  last  man  was  suf 
fering  from  reduced  circumstances. 

"How  much  is  you?  Shoots  de  fifty!  Fse 
faded.  Gallopers,  stan'  by  me!  Stay  soopreem. 
Bam!  An'  I  reads,  six-ace.  Deppity — you's 
done!" 

The  Wildcat,  perspiring  copiously  in  his  official 
robes  of  supremacy,  got  to  his  feet.  He  parked  the 
gallopers  in  his  inside  pocket.  He  reached  for 
Lily's  leading  string.  "Brethren — me  an'  Lily 
stahte3  soopreem  when  we  come  heah.  Dat's  de 
way  we  finishes.  I  bids  you — good  night !" 

4- 

With  Lily  at  his  heels,  the  favourite  of  Lady 
Luck  made  his  way  into  the  midnight  fog  which  lay 
above  the  city.  He  walked  to  Market  Street,  and  at 
the  ferry  building  he  headed  down  the  Embarcadero 
toward  the  pier  where  the  Empire  was  loading.  In 
the  deep  shadows  cast  by  a  post  in  the  long  pier  he 


222  LADY   LUCK 

removed  his  trailing  robe.  He  rolled  his  insignia 
under  his  arm.  Under  the  arc  lights  along  the  pier 
the  men  of  the  night  shift  were  rustling  the  last  of 
the  freight  to  the  Empire's  side. 

With  Lily  at  his  heels,  the  Wildcat  went  aboard 
the  ship.  The  officer  on  watch  recognized  him. 
"What  you  doin'  out  so  late,  boy?  Thought  you 
run  the  day  shift?" 

"Cap'n, — yessuh, — I  does.  Me  an'  Lily  was  pro- 
jectin'  roun'  some.  Us  ain't  got  no  place  to  go." 

The  Wildcat  lingered  on  this  last  statement. 
"No  place  to  go."  Then  he  summoned  courage 
enough  to  voice  a  request  which  expressed  a  longing 
that  had  developed  since  he  had  first  known  the 
Empire's  destination. 

"Cap'n,  suh,"  he  said  slowly,  "kin  me  an'  Lily 
ride  wid  you  to  New  Awl'uns? — Us  craves  to  git 
south." 

"I'll  say  you  can.  We  need  about  nine  good 
waiters  for  the  trip." 

"Cap'n,  suh,  dat's  me!  When  us  starts  I'se  de 
same  as  nine." 

"You're  hired.     Sign  on  tomorrow." 

In  his  eagerness  the  Wildcat  jerked  heavily  at 
Lily's  leading  string.  "Come  on  heah,  goat,  le's  git 
down  in  de  oP  boat's  cellar  whah  de  kitchen  is  an' 
git  to  work.  Say  you's  'bliged  to  de  cap'n." 

"Blaaa!"     Lily  voiced  her  gratitude. 


LADY   LUCK  223 

On  the  third  deck  down,  the  Wildcat  tied  Lily  to 
a  stanchion.  He  threw  his  official  costume  on  the 
deck  in  front  of  the  mascot  goat. 

"See  kin  you  eat  dis  soopreem  raiment.  Us  is 
done  bein'  soopreem.  Hot  dam!  New  Awl'uns 
boun' !  Den  Memphis — dat's  home !" 

The  Wildcat  felt  the  thick  packages  of  bank  notes 
in  the  inside  pockets  of  his  yaller  suit.  "Sho'  big 
money.  Money — dis  time  Stan'  by  me.'* 

"I  kin  ride  a  steamboat — I  don*  pay  no  fare, 
I  kin  ride  a  steamboat — anywhere. 
Dat's  de  reason  I'se  as  bappy  as  a  bee, 
Me  an'  Lily's  Memphis  boun' — Memphis,  Ten-o-see." 


"The  Books  You  Like  to  Read 
at  the  Price  You  Like  to  Pay" 


There  Are  Two  Sides 
to  Everything — 

— including  the  wrapper  which  covers 
every  Grosset  &  Dunlap  book.  When 
you  feel  in  the  mood  for  a  good  ro 
mance,  refer  to  the  carefully  selected  list 
of  modern  fiction  comprising  most  of 
the  successes  by  prominent  writers  of 
the  day  which  is  printed  on  the  back  of 
every  Grosset  &  Dunlap  book  wrapper. 

You  will  find  more  than  five  hundred 
titles  to  choose  from — books  for  every 
mood  and  every  taste  and  every  pocket- 
book. 

Don't  forget  the  other  side,  but  in  case 
the  wrapper  is  lost,  write  to  the  -publishers 
for  a  complete  catalog. 


There  is  a  Grosset  &  Dunlap  Book 
for  every  mood  and  for  every  taste 


DATE  DUE 


HAT  iM 


PRINTED  IN  U    S    A. 


3  1970  00493  0175 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  F  AC  L  TY 


111  !•••••      " 

A  A      000306991     1 


